


I'm Alright (I Just Forget You All the Time)

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Depression, Fix-It, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"He can't help but think to himself that, no matter what Dustin claims in his typical dramatic, theatrical manner, this isn't a love story.  Maybe it's more of a growth story.  Maybe this is Eduardo's growth story—his journey, about how he went from the worst place he's ever been to the best one imaginable."</i> </p><p>Or, after the depositions when Eduardo is at his lowest, the person to help him is the one he least expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Alright (I Just Forget You All the Time)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [thesocialbigbang](http://thesocialbbang.livejournal.com/). [ART + FANMIX HERE](http://am41.livejournal.com/69654.html)

Eduardo wakes groggily in the morning. He tries to hold off opening his eyes for as long as possible, and instead, clutches at the sheets wrapped around him for some frame of reference. They feel scratchy and rough, as does the comforter, so it feels safe to assume he’s not in his apartment. 

He blinks slowly, the light streaming in from the window seeming obnoxiously bright. His head is already pounding from all the alcohol last night and his mouth tastes like something has crawled up and died in there. 

He looks around for any sign of recognition, but soon it is clear that nope, he has absolutely no idea where he is. The bed is rumpled beside him, and as he puts his palm done to feel it, his stomach sinks when he realizes it still feels warm. 

So he was with someone. Great. He just has absolutely no idea who. 

_Well, maybe it doesn’t matter,_ he thinks to himself as he rises from the bed gingerly, gathering his slacks and dress shirt off the floor and pulling them on haphazardly. He’s doing up the buttons on his shirt when he glances a gleaming, expensive watch on the bedside table and then _oh_ , he remembers. Damn. 

He hurriedly ties his shoes and tries to get out of there as fast as possible. He can hear the shower running in the bathroom and doesn’t want to have to do the morning after dance, especially considering... well, _that_. 

Eduardo closes the door behind him softly on the way out, and finds he can breathe again when he’s out into the nondescript, vague-looking hotel hallway. He lets the memory of last night wash over him slowly and tries not to feel too grimy about it, and _really_ tries not to remember how fucking _young_ the guy last night looked, how the blonde curly hair had sprung as he pulled on it with his fingers, the way everything about the guy reminded him just a little of someone he’d rather forget. 

He hails a taxi and gives the driver his address, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and concentrating on staving off the nausea that’s accompanying this wicked hangover. Not for the first time, he marvels how the bustle and noise of San Francisco can seem so comforting most of the time and so _grating_ after a night like that. 

It isn’t long until they pull up at his apartment complex. He throws a couple bills at the driver; he can’t be bothered to count them properly and it’s not like he can’t afford it. He makes his way up to his apartment quickly, just wanting to get back home and sleep for a year. He just woke up, but he feels exhausted. 

First, he throws himself into the shower, scrubbing off what feels like an invisible layer of filth. It’s then when he notices the bruises on his hips, the bite marks on the inside of his thighs, proof that he can’t just pretend last night was a figment of his imagination. 

He presses his fingers to the marks and tries to feel something. It doesn’t work. 

//

The thing is, he hasn’t lost control. At least not completely. 

Eduardo is a stickler about some things. He always goes to work completely sober and doesn’t let his personal relationships interfere there. 

What’s more, he’s _fucking good_ at his job. All his colleagues know it and he gets along with everyone there. And he likes it, working with start-ups. It’s always new and interesting and he does good work, and furthermore, makes good money doing it. What his father thinks is unwanted and unnecessary. 

But the nights… Nights are more difficult, in terms of control. 

It’s harder to distract himself, which is where the drinking and the and the smoking and the sex all come in. 

But even then, there are some limits he sticks to. Eduardo never does drugs—he refuses to, because he is not Sean Parker, thank you very much (other than a little bit of pot, but that was just _once_ ). Also, everyone he picks up is around his age, because again, _not Sean Parker._ And the smoking thing, that’s just a nervous habit. He can stop anytime he wants. 

Plus, it works, _it all works_ , he doesn’t think about Facebook or Mark or feel sorry for himself and he is legitimately, properly distracted… until morning hits, and Eduardo wakes up in another bed with another hangover, relentless. Not to mention another helping of self-hatred to pile onto himself, or guilt for that matter. 

He’s come to realize that all distractions pale and seem pathetic in the clear light of dawn. 

//

The first time Eduardo sees Mark again, it’s at a convention on social networking. 

Worst of all, Eduardo didn’t even _expect_ to see him, which just makes him feel a whole new level of stupid. Where else would Mark be, when there was a conference on the many benefits of social networking in the Bay area? When he looks closer at his program, he sees that Mark is actually the _keynote speaker_ , which is just… fuck. 

Eduardo is there with a client. He had hoped to be able to show him the ropes of the technology world of Silicon Valley, and hopefully impart some knowledge of old fashioned business networking in the process. The kid is young, but he has a great idea… A product that could _explode_ , become so much more than its founder. 

(Not that he reminds Eduardo of anyone or anything. At least, Eduardo won’t admit to that.)

But now he looks at the program, the name _Mark Zuckerberg_ in black and white, matter-of-fact, almost clinical type, and he feels sick. He thinks he might vomit, make a fool of himself in front of everyone, and of course, feeding into the cycle, hates himself for getting worked up over this little thing.

“Eduardo?” the client, Paul, asks. “Are you… are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His eyes are trapped on the program, he can’t look up but he has to, has to _unfreeze himself_ and act like a normal, functioning, non-fucked-up human being. 

As soon as he does, he regrets it. 

Because there is Mark, standing at the front of the room, shuffling some papers in his hands and his mouth moving quickly. Eduardo assumes that he’s running through his speech. 

He’s cleaned up, wearing a suit—God knows why, Eduardo doesn’t care how long it’s been but he _knows_ Mark did not put on that suit voluntarily. He looks… good. No different than the last time Eduardo saw him, but something in his heart kind of _tugs_ to see him after so long. And Eduardo hates himself just a little bit more for that. 

Chris is behind him, talking firmly to some organizer of the event. Their conversation seems to reach an end as the organizer stalks away in a huff—Eduardo wonders if maybe Mark’s offended them somehow—and Chris rolls his eyes and turns his head and sees Eduardo. 

Eduardo _knows_ he does, bone-deep, can feel it like an electric shock when their eyes meet but also knows it by the look on Chris’ face. There’s a little bit of surprise there, but mixed with other emotions like pity and confusion and worry. He looks like he’s about to head over, but then Mark turns to him, pointing to a line on the papers, and Chris is distracted. 

Paul the client is still looking at Eduardo like he’s worried Eduardo may get sick right then and there, so obviously it hasn’t been that long, even though to Eduardo it feels like that tiny exchange took ages. 

He directs his gaze to his shoes, “I, just—Sorry Paul, I think the food at the restaurant, um… might have made me sick and- Er, do you mind if I step out? For a minute?”

Paul is nodding, saying, “Sure, of course man,” but Eduardo is practically sprinting toward the door before the words are out of his mouth, because he just _has to get out of there._

When he gets outside to the sidewalk he practically wilts against the side of the building, drawing his knees up to his chest. Eduardo is suddenly sure he’s going to die; he’s never been surer of anything in his entire life. His chest feels tight and he can’t breathe, even though he’s panting as if he’s just run a marathon. He’s trembling all over and he can see it in his hands as he raises them up to cover his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes until there are white bursts behind his eyes. Everything is so hot and suddenly he’s sweating buckets, despite the chilly nip of the evening air. He can feel his heartbeat in his _teeth_ , accelerated and pounding, and _god_ what if he passes out here or worse, what will everyone inside think and everything is spinning _and and_ _and and and_ —

Eduardo closes his eyes and tries to push around the racing thoughts, remembering something he once read. He counts his breaths internally until he can feel them slow down, concentrates on the sounds of crickets chirping until he stops feeling so dizzy. 

He opens his eyes hesitantly, glances at his watch and sees it’s been half an hour. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that information, but he _does_ know that there is no way in hell that he can go back in _there_. He hurriedly taps out a quick, vague text to Paul—saying only that he got sick, he’s sorry, and they’ll do it again another time—and makes his way to his car on unsteady legs. Driving is probably not advisable right now, but he feels too shaken and nervous to call a cab. 

Eduardo grinds his teeth the whole ride home and clutches the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white, but he makes it. As soon as he unlocks the door, he turns off all the lights and shucks his shoes, pants, and belt, flopping onto his bed and passing out as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

//

After that episode, Eduardo only gets worse. His throws himself harder into his job, stunning his coworkers and even himself with the fanaticism he exhibits. 

Furthermore, the total number of nights he’s had to wake up in a strange bed increases exponentially. He stops going home with girls entirely—not for any specific reason, at least, not a conscious one. It just so happens that it’s always guys now, guys he lets tie him up or hold him down or bite him and fuck him not so nicely, just to stave off the all-consuming, ever looming numbness he is so afraid of. 

His lines blur even further when one night at a club the guy he’s been dancing with (and planning on going home with, in an hour or two) offers him some colorful pills. Everything inside him screams that this isn’t a good idea, but when he looks into the guy’s crystal-clear, hypnotizing blue eyes (eyes that remind him a little too much of that someone he avoids thinking of at every turn), it is hard to say no. 

The rest of the night is a hazy blur of hands and teeth and lust. Eduardo wakes before the sunrise and feels so _embarrassed_ , so ashamed of himself that he fumbles around for his clothes and shoes and quietly makes his way out in the dark. He has to fight off another panic attack (because he’s identified the incident from that conference now) the whole taxi-ride back to his apartment. 

Not to say that his boundaries have disappeared completely. There is one night when he goes home with a big, burly guy, covered in tattoos; not his usual type but the guy wants him, wants him _bad_ and Eduardo is more than a little drunk. He’s just blown him, but the man (whose name Eduardo can’t quite remember—Kurt or maybe Charles?) tugs on his hair just a little too hard, before he comes, slurring, “Mmm, stop, want you to fuck me.”

Eduardo’s not opposed to the idea until he’s fumbling for the condom and the guy tries to knock it out of his hand. “C’mon… just you, baby,” he manages. 

Eduardo can’t conceal his shock, mouth agape and eyes sharp. He may be drunk but he isn’t _stupid_ ; he’s not about to bareback a total fucking stranger and this guy is insane to think he would just go along with it. 

So he reaches for the condom again, insistent—but the guy sort of growls at him and makes a grab for it. “Baby, stop. Wanna feel you, want you to come inside me...”

The word _baby_ sounds wrong, too dirty coming out of his mouth, and Eduardo feels slimy in his own skin with this guy’s hands all over him, one running up and down his side and the other tangling with Eduardo’s hand for the condom packet. “No,” he replies, trying to sound definite, “ _Stop_ it, _no_ , I’m _not_ doing it like that.”

The man’s expression contorts into something more like a thundercloud, and Eduardo feels something hot on his face, centered around his eye, before he can even process what’s happened. He scrambles off the bed, grabbing his slacks and shirt but abandoning his jacket and shoes (because it’s just not worth it and he needs to get out _now)_ with one hand pressed over his eye all the while. Eduardo is sure it will swell tomorrow. 

“Thought you were up for it,” the guy taunts from the bed, “C’mon, you dirty little _slut—”_

The word pierces the air, stings… and now _Eduardo’s_ face sets into something grave, the kind of face that precedes the smashing of laptops. “Fuck. You.” he says, leaning forward and punctuating each word with a jab of his finger, before turning on his heel and slamming the door shut behind him. 

He walks three blocks barefoot before he manages to catch a taxi outside that stupid, seedy hotel. Once he manages to get one, he rushes in, gives the driver his address, and then proceeds to fall apart.

//

That’s the _only time_ —the only time he’s even been hit, for one, because no matter what happens that line is black and white and Eduardo will never, _ever_ do that to himself. And it’s also the only other time he has another breakdown after the first. 

He’s been purposefully avoiding going to functions where he thinks Mark will show up because he’s too afraid it will happen again. 

Come to think of it, he pretty much stops going to functions completely… But he stays at the office later and takes on extra work to make up for it. He doesn’t say anything to anyone about it, but he just doesn’t trust himself there anymore. Which is a shame, because that’s something he used to really love doing. 

It seems to work out really well until his boss approaches him and asks him to go to some kind of charity ball thing for putting state-of-the-art technology in inner city schools. “I know you haven’t really been going to conventions lately and I don’t know why, and that’s fine, but—I really need someone at this one, and you’re the best person for these kinds of things.” She’s gentle but firm about it, and he can’t say no to that. 

This time he is prepared: he scans the donor list and sees Facebook there, so he mentally readies himself to possibly see Mark again. He doesn’t know for sure if he will, only knows that he _might_ , but it still scares the shit out of him. 

The conference starts off going really well. Eduardo is able to chat with people and network a little bit. He’s feeling pretty okay, better than he has in a while… Because he’s doing something that he’s good _at_ and something that is _good_. For the first time in a long time, he’s not concentrating on chasing away the numbness. He’s just there.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Mark walk in. He’s wearing slacks and a dress shirt, looking much more like himself. Immediately Mark is kind of swept up into a group of people. Which makes sense with this crowd, after what he did for Newark schools, and also just because it’s _Mark_ , and he’s probably never going to stop being a big deal in the tech world. 

It throws Eduardo off a little bit just to see him trying to fend off all the people, obviously uncomfortable. Something in his brain jolts and Eduardo thinks _we have groupies_. A smile tugs at the edges of his lips before he can tamp it down. 

Immediately he’s mad at himself for it, because he shouldn’t still feel _fond_ of Mark, he knows. Not after everything. Mark doesn’t deserve it and Eduardo doesn’t need to keep torturing himself with it. 

His current conversation is drawing to a close, so he excuses himself politely and tries to ignore the sudden pounding in his head. He makes a beeline for the bar. If he’s going to make it through this night, he’s going to need a drink. 

//

It starts off like this: Eduardo gets a drink every time he sees Mark and feels something he’d rather not. 

He looks at Mark scowling at a crusty older attendee, and he gets a drink. He sees Mark roll his eyes when Chris fusses with his suit, and he gets a drink. He sees Mark smile genuinely at a young girl from one of the inner city schools the charity is supporting, and he gets a drink. 

Soon the game just morphs into getting a drink every time his glass as empty, because he’s basically just cutting out the middleman. He’s already on his way to spectacularly drunk at this point; this is just more efficient. 

People come over to talk to him at his position at the bar a little, and that’s fine. Eduardo has always been a very articulate drunk, and he can hold his own in these kinds of business small talk, no problem. But at the moment he’s unoccupied, staring at the ice in his quickly emptying glass and he hears from behind him, “Gin and tonic, please,” and Eduardo would never, _ever_ mistake that voice for anyone else. 

He clenches his teeth and tightens his hold on the glass in his hand as he watches Mark sit down in the seat right beside him. The silence feels stifling, and the room is starting to spin just a little and Eduardo is feeling so very, _very_ drunk and so very, _very_ reckless. 

As the minutes pass, what gets to him most is his annoyance at the possibility that Mark may sit here the whole time, finish his drink, and not say a _single word to Eduardo_ like he is _nothing_ , like he is just another donor at this event and not someone that Mark used to be best friends with, or cofounded a website with, or even just used to know at college. And that just seems so _unfair,_ so wrong and Eduardo’s not going to let that happen. 

He turns around on his chair to face Mark. “Worked up your nerve, huh?” he asks, words coming out with a bite that he didn’t intend but certainly doesn’t object to now. 

Mark smiles humorlessly. “Almost,” he replies, gesturing to glass in his hand. “That’s what the drink is for.”

Eduardo snorts and shakes his head a little. “Great,” he says, just to fill the silence. Because silence makes things awkward and he doesn’t want to feel awkward. If anyone should feel awkward it’s _Mark_ , because he’s earned that, but not Eduardo. 

Mark nods jerkily, just once, short. He makes a hissing sound as he takes a sip of his drink and sets it back down. “So,” he begins, looking Eduardo dead in the eye. “How have you been?”

Eduardo practically falls off his chair.

Because _no_ , that is not how their first conversation is supposed to start. Ideally, Eduardo would start off with a cutting dig to make Mark uneasy, and then lay into him about everything—the dilution, the depositions, Harvard. Eduardo is supposed to have the upper hand here, because he is the winner. Mark _settled_ , and sure, by his standards it wasn’t a very big loss, but he caved in and that means something. Right?

Besides, they shouldn’t be exchanging civil small talk like they’re just any other two businessmen at this thing, because that’s just not true. They’re never going to be _that_ , not to Eduardo anyway. 

“What do you care?” Eduardo asks, voice dangerously low. How obtuse of Mark, to toss Eduardo out of the company like he was _trash_ , stare at him across a deposition table blankly for months on end, and then have the audacity to ask _how Eduardo is_. 

Mark looks a little taken aback, but Eduardo feels absolutely no pity, no empathy at all for him. None. Definitely not. 

“You _don’t_ care,” he continues in the same undertone. “If you actually _cared_ you would have talked to me a long time ago. You would have picked up the phone to explain yourself, you would have tried to actually _communicate_ before just giving up and throwing me out, and you certainly would have tried to make amends before now, so don’t fucking _pretend_.” Eduardo spits the word out like it’s poisonous, and Mark flinches at it. Eduardo furiously thinks, _good._

Mark’s gaze has directed down to his shoes, eyes steely and jaw set. Eduardo is too drunk to interpret his facial expression; he can’t tell if Mark is hurt or angry or fed up or some combination of all of the above. When he looks back up to meet Eduardo’s face, his eyes are carefully, deliberately blank. “You’re an idiot,” he says in a perfectly unruffled tone. “If that’s what you really think, then you’re an idiot.”

Eduardo stares at him, gaping. “Really?” he asks, his volume heightening. “ _Please_ , Mark, what was I supposed to think? _Enlighten_ me!” His voice is loud and stupid with emotion but he can’t bring himself to care—doesn’t think it matters, not right now. 

Mark just shakes his head minutely. “You must see that you weren’t the best CFO for the company, that something had to happen for the good of Facebook—”

“Don’t _give_ me that shit!” Eduardo yells. He’s actually _yelling_ now, he’s totally lost it. So much for professionalism. “Don’t act like it was all just business, because _we both fucking know_ that’s not true. Nothing was never _just business_ between us!” He had stood up fast when he first raised his voice, and now he feels himself swaying on his feet. The lights are bright and whirling around him, a little unfocused, but Mark is before him and _he_ at least is crystal clear. 

Chris is rushing over from the other side of the room, looking angry and panicked. Eduardo doesn’t know which reaction is for whom and can’t be bothered with puzzling that out right now. He just wants to have the last word with Mark, just this _once_ —wants to leave him with a final dig that will hurt, fester like Eduardo has festered. 

“You know what I think?” he continues, leaning in closer to Mark so no one else can hear and lowering his voice. Mark meets his gaze and doesn’t back down. “I think that you’re not even trying to do this to make peace with me. You want to make nice and you want me to forgive you to clear your own guilty conscience. But guess what?”

“What?” Mark asks in a resigned tone, putting up absolutely no fight. And _fine_. That just makes things easier.

“I’m not going to give it to you. I’m _never_ giving you that.” Eduardo’s voice breaks on the word never, but it doesn’t matter, because Chris’ hands are on his shoulders, pulling him away, breaking it up.

Eduardo can see as he walks away that Mark looks openly unhappy now, his mouth downturned and his brow furrowed. He looks like he did when Eduardo told him he was coming back for everything: openly wounded and vulnerable. 

Chris tells Eduardo off in furious, hissing whispers as he leads them outside and stuffs them both into a cab. Eduardo isn’t listening to him in the slightest; everything is a blur from the alcohol and the fury. 

All he can think is that he doesn’t feel the numbness anymore. Instead, it’s replaced with a sharp, stabbing ache in his chest. 

Eduardo has spent so much time fending off the numbness that it comes like a revelation when he remembers: feeling is no better. 

//

He doesn’t remember at what point he passed out. The last thing Eduardo can recall is stumbling into Chris’ apartment, with Chris’ admonishing still echoing in his ears, just bouncing around in there without really being attached to any meaning. But at least he’s not _that_ disoriented when he wakes up in the morning. He’s woken up to much worse.

Chris looks up from the armchair by the couch Eduardo had slept on over the top of the newspaper. He raises a disapproving eyebrow as Eduardo scrubs a hand over his face with a grimace. His head is _pounding_ ; he can literally feel his heartbeat throbbing everywhere and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to vomit in the next ten minutes. He can’t even _remember_ the last time he was this hung-over, which is quite a feat considering how much he’s been drinking lately. 

There is a rustle as Chris puts down his paper, sitting forward and handing Eduardo two aspirin and a glass of water he’s grabbed from the side table. Eduardo murmurs “Thanks,” and takes it, tossing it back as quickly as he can and wincing as he puts the glass down on the coffee table in front of him, the sharp sound of the glass meeting the wood amplified in his groggy brain. 

Chris clears his throat and Eduardo looks at him. Chris still looks disapproving but there is an edge of sympathy to it now. “I don’t envy the morning you’re about to have,” Chris says kindly, and Eduardo snorts a little in response. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he replies, leaning forward to put his head in his hands. Everything is just too damn _bright_. 

A moment of silence falls over the room as they sit there. Eduardo knows that something’s coming, otherwise why would Chris still be here? 

Finally Chris speaks, tone hesitant. “I think we should talk about last night.”

Eduardo groans, moving to lean back against the couch so he can see Chris without having to hold his head up. “Chris, the absolute _last_ thing I want to do right now is talk about last night.”

Chris offers him a bit of a wry smile. “I know, but wait. You have to hear me out on this, Eduardo.”

“Are you going to tell me how irresponsible I was again? Because I got enough of that last night. Besides, I got very— _very_ —drunk and it was unintentional and I just lost control and—”

“No, no, none of that,” Chris assures him, looking a little bit guilty. He takes a deep breath before continuing, and it makes Eduardo a tad bit nervous. “Listen… Are you okay?”

Eduardo just looks at him, because he really doesn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully, Chris plows on before the silence is too awkward. 

“Because… last night when all that happened, it seemed like you had been holding onto that stuff for a while and—that’s just not like you, Eduardo. You don’t hold grudges and you don’t lose control like that. And you just don’t look good either, it seems like you haven’t been taking care of yourself, and when I saw you at that conference a couple weeks ago you looked like death warmed over and… I’m worried about you, Eduardo,” Chris finishes, looking concerned. 

Eduardo refuses to look up. He’s glaring down at his shoes like if he tries hard enough he can set them on fire. “Why are you telling me this?” he bites out, feeling resentful. 

Chris flinches as if Eduardo’s slapped him. “I—I want you to be okay, Eduardo; I care about you and you’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you like this; it’s not good for you—”

Eduardo cuts off Chris’ words with a scoff. “ _Please_ ,” he spits out, hearing the bitterness in his own tone but unable to stop it. “Don’t act like you did all this because we’re _friends_. Chris, we’re not friends, not the way we were—now we’re just those people who get together every couple of months to have coffee and talk politics and reminisce about college. You did this… you brought me here to prevent my, my—my _altercation_ with Mark last night from getting any uglier, and you brought me here to make sure I wouldn’t walk out of that benefit and accidentally spill the story to one of the reporters waiting outside, or worse, _sell_ them the details. I mean, let’s face it, you probably slapped the cab driver and all of the people who really _saw_ what was going on with NDAs, and you’ve basically guaranteed it won’t make the papers. You’re Facebook’s PR guy, first and foremost, and right now I’m just a liability.” 

He exhales a little when it is all out, eyes finally chancing a look at Chris’ face. His mouth is tight, eyes narrowed and searching like he’s trying to puzzle out what Eduardo’s motive is here. Finally he nods once, decided, and claps his hands on his thighs, looking at the ground. He shakes his head a little, muttering, “Boy, Eduardo, you’re sure on a roll with hurting people who care about you…”

Eduardo doesn’t reply because he has no idea what’s that supposed to mean. Chris may care but that’s just for his own self-interest, and Mark couldn’t give _less of a shit_ about Eduardo. He probably doesn’t even care if Eduardo lives or dies. 

“Fine,” Chris says, effectively cutting off Eduardo’s thoughts and looking Eduardo unflinchingly in the eye. “If that’s what you really think, get out.” 

Eduardo nods and rises, because he was expecting that, grabbing his suit jacket off the couch and heading toward the door.

“Eduardo,” Chris calls out once more, hurrying to catch him. Eduardo turns, and Chris shoves something into the palm of his hand and doesn’t let go, covering it with his own hand so Eduardo can’t see it. 

“Take this for what it’s worth,” he says, voice full of resolve. “I know you think I don’t care and _you’re wrong_ but I know I’m not going to change your mind. Just… don’t ignore this out of spite for me, or for Mark, or for anyone, okay?”

They look at each other for a handful of seconds before Chris is stepping aside to open the door without a word. Eduardo leaves wordlessly, walking purposefully and determinedly down Chris’ driveway (in case Chris is still watching, he can be dejected and pathetic and miserable later when he’s alone) and towards the main road, where he catches a taxi back to his building. 

He doesn’t remember the paper in his hand until he’s in the elevator up towards his apartment. When he flips it over, he sees it’s a card for a therapist with a phone number written below in dark print. 

Most of him wants to crumple it up into pieces and throw it into the trash as soon as he slams his apartment door closed. But somehow, he ends up just setting it gently on the counter—the small part of his brain that is screaming at him right now, outraged that he’s pushed away yet another person who just wants to help because he’s too depressed and angry at the world for reason, somehow winning out. It’s not much, but maybe it’s something. 

//

The next event he attends with Mark present goes equally as badly as the other two, but not for lack of trying.

Eduardo decides beforehand that he's not going to drink during this—he’s going to try and make it through as sober as possible. He'll be fine, he can totally do this. He doesn't need alcohol anyway; he doesn't have to give Mark the satisfaction of seeing him drunk and a mess and lacking composure, won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he caused it. So there.

But then Mark actually _shows up_ , and everything goes to pot.

Chris doesn't even attend the function, which makes Eduardo wince a little guiltily for half a second as he wonders if _he's_ the reason why, before he decides he's being ridiculous. They're all fully grown adults, not to mention professionals. For the most part. 

Dustin does show up, however—and with a pretty, nice-looking brunette on his arm. He waves to Eduardo animatedly from across the room, and Eduardo tips his head back in a nod with an accompanying indulgent smile. Dustin looks like he kind of wants to head over, but then his date says something and he gets distracted. Eduardo figures it's probably for the best anyway... Dustin could be oblivious a lot of the time, but he had always been weirdly observant about Eduardo's relationship with Mark, and Eduardo would prefer not getting a lecture tonight. It could go either way: Dustin could berate him for giving Mark the cold shoulder and yelling at him at that one event, or he could wax poetic for hours about how all of this is could just be fixed if they admitted they were sorry and it would end in an explosion of rainbows and unicorns and _true love_ (which is so obviously false it makes Eduardo clench his teeth just thinking about it). Yeah, he _definitely_ doesn't want to give Dustin any ideas.

And then, Mark enters. Behind him is trailing a guy, a little younger than them probably, who Mark is talking to casually, offhand and comfortable. Eduardo surmises after watching them surreptitiously for a few minutes that the kid must work at Facebook (maybe he’s an intern or something) and be acting in Chris' role tonight, judging from the way he's fumblingly handing Mark cards and following him around everywhere.

But that's not all, either. Every time Mark says something to someone, the kid has a reaction. He either looks stupidly proud or he's laughing while Mark smirks after making a comment, like he's Mark's little cheering squad or something. And Eduardo's embarrassed for him, really, because the kid has way too many hearts in his eyes and his crush is really unprofessional. Not to mention that it’s also visible from like, _space_ , to everyone except Mark, of course. But, on the same hand, he can't seem to make himself look away from them either, and he keeps getting mildly distracted in discussions with other people and... Yeah, he definitely needs something to take his mind off it.

Just by chance, he happens to look over at a group of people congregated on the other side of the room, not too far away. One of them, who looks somewhat familiar, catches his eye and tips his drink at Eduardo with a wink. 

Eduardo forcibly stifles a shudder. He’s run into the guy at a couple of these things, but never for very long… He always just sort of leers at Eduardo appreciatively and then proceeds to hit on him for the rest of the conversation, using only the minimal amount of subtlety and usually making everyone else around them blush. At which point Eduardo usually clears his throat and excuses himself to go join another conversation. 

It’s _creepy_ is what it is, not to mention totally inappropriate. This is _work_ , and those are the types of lines Eduardo doesn’t cross, thank you very much. 

But as he’s looking away, he sees Mark again, and it hits him like a ton of bricks. _Oh._ This could be his distraction. 

This… this _guy—_ Eduardo is trying and failing to remember his name—is certainly willing. And he’s not _completely_ repulsive. Eduardo could definitely make this work. 

He throws back the rest of his drink and saunters over there, glancing at Mark as he does so and thrilling a little to catch him looking back for once (which is spiteful—that he thinks _so there_ every time he has Mark’s attention, because he certainly didn’t _before_ —but it’s not like Mark doesn’t deserve it), easily edging his way into the circle of conversation and turning on the charm. He chats business with everyone, shooting the guy—whose name is Kyle, the name tag he’s wearing proclaims—heated looks from under his lashes. _Neither_ of them are being very subtle now, but Eduardo could not give less of a fuck. 

There’s a speaker at the microphone, asking everyone to be seated, and the rest of the group surrounding them makes their way to their tables. But then Eduardo tips forward into Kyle’s space, brushing his lips against the shell of his ear, and says lowly, “Meet me in the bathroom.”

Kyle smirks like he’s won (Eduardo has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at that; it’s not like Kyle _did_ anything to make this happen, he’s just—a distraction, that’s all.) and nods in response, and Eduardo leaves. 

He doesn’t have to wait on Kyle very long, who practically storms into the bathroom stall and throws himself at Eduardo, kissing him harshly and with too much intensity. There are teeth clacking and noses bumping and hair being pulled and it’s not entirely pleasant. Well, not a lot of these encounters could be characterized as “pleasant”, but usually they at least wait to get to the fucking to get rough. Usually this part—the kissing, the foreplay—is at least a little more soft. It can still be full of lust and desperate, but in a good way, a pleasurable way. And that is a hell of a lot more distracting than _this_ is, because then Eduardo can focus on the desire pulsing through him, the warmth of skin… All this is doing is making him kind of want to squirm away, or at least fast-forward through this part. 

So he starts pushing at Kyle’s shoulders, which is rude and Eduardo usually tries to avoid that, but Kyle doesn’t seem to mind. He grins, predatory, as he steps back, fumbling with Eduardo’s belt and zipper. “Hungry for it, huh?” he growls, and Eduardo grits his teeth and exhales harshly, hoping that he just looks too turned on to answer and not as completely repulsed as he feels. 

Kyle doesn’t actually seem to notice, just drops to his knees with no preamble and pulls Eduardo out, sucking him into his mouth almost immediately after. 

“Oh!” Eduardo exclaims, part a surprised gasp and part—something else, a moan or something, because _this_ at least is distracting. Kyle is apparently good with his mouth in _this_ arena, because he’s licking and sucking slowly, curling his hand around the base to make up the difference and bobbing his head, hollowing his cheeks. The suction is white hot heat, wet and tight, and _now_ there’s a fire curling in Eduardo’s stomach, lighting him up. 

He’s not very good at staying quiet either. He moans and groans and gasps and whimpers and can’t make himself stop. It’s not until Eduardo hears the door swing shut when he realizes someone _came in_. They had to, and how did the two of them not notice, the bathroom was empty when Kyle came in—and he feels himself flush with embarrassment and shame, because there’s absolutely _no way_ that anyone could misinterpret this. 

Eduardo pulls on Kyle’s hair sharply, partly as a warning and partly vindictively. But Kyle doesn’t pull off, just sucks more determinedly and then Eduardo comes down his throat, biting down on his hand to muffle his noises. He bites down so sharply that he can see white teeth marks in his skin, already darkening to soon form a bruise. 

There’s not much time to think about it with Kyle pressed all along his front now, mouthing at Eduardo’s neck and jaw, and he can feel Kyle’s erection through his dress pants and knows this is only half over. 

And… Eduardo just wants to get this over with as fast as possible. Not only does he hate himself, he hates _Kyle_ , and a large part of him wants to leave right now. But he can’t, not only because that wouldn’t be polite, but because Kyle is more or less pinning him to the wall, heavy and expectant, and seemingly without any intention of moving. 

So Eduardo unzips him and proceeds to give him the fastest, shortest handjob ever. It doesn’t take much (apparently Kyle gets off on getting head) so Eduardo just strokes him until Kyle pushes his face into Eduardo’s neck and _groans_ , turning his head and biting a little too violently at the skin there. Eduardo starts a little, jumping away for a second out of disgust before he recovers himself. 

It’s over pretty quickly after that. They both straighten their clothing as best they can and come out of the cubicle, washing their hands in silence. At least it seems to go without saying that they should leave separately to be less conspicuous—though, Eduardo doesn’t think they can really hope for inconspicuous at this point, realistically speaking—which is good because if he ever has to talk to Kyle again it would be too soon. 

It appears that’s not meant to be. Kyle is oblivious, pulling Eduardo in by his tie for a filthy kiss before leaving. “See you out there,” he pants, inches from Eduardo’s face, and his skin crawls. 

After he’s gone, Eduardo leans against the counter for a couple of minutes, breathing deeply. His grip is white knuckled, and he feels, just, _dirty_. There’s no other way to describe it. 

But he takes a deep breath and steels himself to go back out there (though there is _no way in hell_ he’s going back over to Kyle; his plan is to stay as far away from him as humanly possible). He pushes the door to the bathroom open and—

There’s _Mark_. 

It doesn’t compute in Eduardo’s brain immediately. All he sees is _Mark_ , his face splotchy and red, his eyes simmering with fire, hands shaking a little as they hover frozen in the air, mid-way through a gesture. Mark is meeting his eyes, but Eduardo can’t read them, doesn’t know what they’re saying.

Eduardo’s eyes slide further right, and there is Dustin, looking puzzled at Mark and then turning to Eduardo. And then there is comprehension, a look in his eyes that Eduardo can’t misinterpret, and it’s suddenly obvious Dustin knows everything. 

Mark turns, without looking at Dustin again and _certainly_ not sparing another look for Eduardo, and walks away. 

Dustin looks back at Eduardo with none of the friendliness from earlier. Now there is steel in his eyes, and Eduardo’s not sure he’s ever seen Dustin this angry. It’s kind of scary. “What the hell was that?” he asks, his voice frighteningly cold. 

Eduardo stiffens, unable to help the defensiveness that creeps over him. “None of your business. Or _his_ either, for that matter.”

“Jesus Christ, Wardo…” Dustin mutters, dropping his head and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, in a look that Eduardo is much more used to seeing Chris wear. 

Eduardo’s nostrils flare and he plows on. “ _What_? Look, I’m sorry he’s upset, or offended, or—whatever he is, I am… but you know what, I’m not exactly living my life to please everyone anymore, so. Besides, I don’t even understand _why_ —”

Dustin looks up suddenly. “Shut up. We both know that you may have been a little naïve once, but you’re not actually _stupid_.”

Which, only serves to make Eduardo _angrier_ , because that’s right, he’s _not_ stupid, and he doesn’t like what Dustin is insinuating because nothing could be further from the truth. If Mark cared about him in the least, he never would have done what he did. Why can’t people _grasp_ that?

“Naïve?” Eduardo seethes, stepping closer and clenching his fists at his sides. “I’m sorry I wasn’t on the lookout for my _best friend_ to stab me in the back, my bad—”

Dustin cuts him off with an eye roll, grabbing his wrist. “Come on, we are _not_ doing this here,” he mutters, and drags Eduardo forcibly out the back door.

“ _What?_ ” Eduardo screams once they’re outside, shaking his wrist from Dustin’s grasp. Part of him is aware that there are photographers not too far off, but the majority of him is too blinded by anger to care. “ _What_ aren’t we doing in there? Go ahead, say what you want to say Dustin! Go ahead and tell me that it’s my fault—”

“For _one second_ ,” Dustin yells back, “Will you _quit_ acting like you’re a fucking helpless victim? It must be getting old for you, Eduardo, I know it certainly is for the rest of us.”

“Why? Why the fuck should I? I _am_ the victim, Dustin! He did it _on purpose_. _I_ didn’t have anyone looking out for me; no one was there to tell me not to sign that contract!”

Dustin gasps and takes a step back, and Eduardo knows he’s hit a nerve. There are photographers circling them now. Dustin is looking around nervously like he knows they’re getting this, and somehow the whole thing just fuels Eduardo’s fire, and he wants to keep pushing, stepping closer into Dustin’s personal space. 

“If anything, you were an accomplice, Dustin—”

“Shut the _fuck up_ , Eduardo!” Dustin yells, shoving him all of a sudden, seeming to forget about the paparazzi. “ _God_ , I know back in school you were his best friend, okay, but you don’t know _the first thing about him_ now. You haven’t for a long time, since before the dilution, even. And… _jesus_ , now I’m the one who’s there to pick up the pieces, okay, so stop assuming you know how we was thinking or feeling or how he is now, because you _don’t_. You have no idea.” 

He exhales then, and his eyes are shining, and he doesn’t look at all like himself. It just doesn’t make sense in Eduardo’s brain to see him so upset, because that’s just… not Dustin. And _Eduardo_ made him like that. 

And now people are snapping pictures, and everything feels stomach-churningly awful, and he has to get out of there. He can stand here and argue with this… _not-Dustin_ anymore. “I’m leaving,” he mutters, not even sure that Dustin can hear him over the commotion. 

Dustin sniffs. “Yeah,” and then heads back inside, shoulders slumping and looking utterly broken. 

Eduardo jogs down the street a little in an effort to get away from the persistent paparazzi, shouting baiting questions in his direction, trying to provoke him into responding. He finally flags down a cab, throws himself inside, and tries not to lose it. 

//

Eduardo skips the next conference. He’s supposed to go: his company books him a hotel and everything. Which he still takes advantage of, in fact. That probably makes him a jackass. 

But he had all intentions of going. He got dressed up, suit and all, and headed downstairs, but somehow never made it passed the bar in the adjacent room. 

He figures it’s probably a good thing in the long run as he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. The press from the last event had gotten nasty; he’s honestly surprised his company even sent him this time after all that. 

He _had_ managed to catch a glimpse of Mark. Everyone going to the event had to pass through the bar to get to the ballroom, and he had turned just around at the time when Mark was at the threshold, about to walk in. And he was staring straight back. 

His eyes had seemed… torn. But Eduardo was frozen and found himself unable to say anything, for the first time in a long time. Instead he had just sat there, returning Mark’s gaze, trying to remind himself to breathe. 

And then Mark had exhaled bodily, turned away and straightened himself up, and walked straight in without looking back. 

For some reason, that brief moment had hurt more than any amount of words ever could. 

He’s still replaying it over in his mind when he hears the door open, and Eduardo sits straight up. He’s not expecting anyone; he has no idea who it could possibly be. He hears footsteps and then all of a sudden there is _Mark_ , of all people, standing in the middle of his hotel room with arms crossed and face set in stone.

“Okay,” he says abruptly. “This has to stop.”

Eduardo looks at him blankly and manages to shake his head a little. His brain feels like it’s way behind and needs to catch up. “What… what the _fuck_ , Mark? Why are you here?”

“Because Chris has been stomping around work for a month acting all bitter and angry, which is _so_ not like him that it’s scaring all the interns, and because Dustin has basically turned into one of those overdramatic sad-faced emoticons, and I don’t know exactly _how_ but it’s all your fault,” Mark says, his words sharp and biting in the hazy morning. 

Eduardo grinds his teeth and tries to wrestle his way out of the sheets, disentangling himself and standing by the bed. As soon as he does so he immediately feels underdressed, wearing an old loose cotton tee and loose sweatpants, because Mark is wearing a blazer and slacks for some reason, all perfectly matched and it’s messing with Eduardo’s head. “It’s— _fuck_ —this is _none of your business_ —”

“Like hell,” Mark snaps, cutting Eduardo off and taking a step forward. “ _They_ are my business because they are my friends and I care about them—and, by the way, so do you, regardless of whatever you said—and, believe it or not, after _all this shit_ , after _everything_ , I still care about you too. So _you_ are also my business,” Mark rants at him, stabbing his finger in the air towards Eduardo. 

He hears himself laugh bitterly and feels the heat of anger rising in his cheeks because Mark has _no right_ … “Funny way of showing it, bursting into my hotel room and screaming at me; yeah, I’m totally feeling how much you _care about me_ , Mark—”

Mark rolls his eyes and the gesture only serves to makes Eduardo angrier, but before he can sputter out a response Mark is talking again, words at rapid-fire speed. “You’re right, it’s totally unreasonable of me to be worried every time you show up at a conference with bruising under your eyes like you haven’t slept for a _year_ , getting so drunk you can’t stand up at a charity benefit, picking up some guy at a conference and fooling around with him in the bathroom, news articles and pictures documenting your screaming match with Dustin and speculating about drug use, but you’re right, no reason to be worried—”

“ _About your ex-best friend_ , yes, you have no right to be worried; you fucking _caused_ all of this, Mark! Don’t pretend you’re some kind of white knight swooping in to save me!”

“I’m not trying to _save you_ ,” Mark spits out, taking another step forward. “I’m trying to make you _see_ what you’re doing, see yourself. You’re hurting people, Wardo, that’s not okay—”

“Because you’ve never hurt anyone!” Eduardo retorts. They’re standing toe to toe now, and something churning in the pit of his stomach makes him feel like this is _it_ , they are going to get to the bottom of this and have it out one way or another right now. 

“Aren’t you _listening_? I’ve made mistakes and I’ve hurt you and that… that sucks, okay, and I’m sorry. I’m _so_ fucking sorry for all of it. But at the same time, Wardo, I _still care about you_.” 

Eduardo staggers backwards like Mark slapped him. He’d heard it when Mark said it before but had been too focused on having the last word, on getting his anger out there to really _listen_. 

Mark looks miserable, no longer defiant and furious, only sad and resigned as he leans against the wall, slumping a little. “I… I don’t know how to make it stop. I tried, and I hated myself for it for a while, but then I had to accept it,” he explains with a shrug. “I know that you probably think I’m crazy for it, and that you could _never_ still care about me after what I did to you, but it doesn’t change how I feel.” 

Eduardo’s still trying to process everything. It’s slow going because it seems like all his brain wants to do is replay _I still care about you_ over and over and over again on a loop. He doesn’t know what to _say_ , how to respond to that, but Mark looks down at the ground and continues. 

“And so _that’s why_ … That’s why I’m here, because it hurts to see you like this Wardo. I just want you to be okay.” He looks up at Eduardo with honesty in his eyes, and Eduardo wants to run away, run _far, far away_ because he used to _want_ this. He still does, if he’s being truthful with himself, but it’s all _wrong_ now. It’s come at the most inopportune time because he is a _mess_. He’s spent so long trying to hate Mark and hating _himself_ and attempting self-destruction, and he doesn’t deserve this now. 

So he staggers over to the edge of the bed and sits down on it, feeling himself physically sag and raise a hand to cover his face. He wants to say something but he just can’t find the words… He feels _gutted_ and most of all, he really doesn’t want Mark to see him like this. 

“That’s all,” Mark says softly. Eduardo can feel Mark’s eyes on him but doesn’t— _can’t_ —look at him. “That’s all I came to say,” he repeats, footsteps soft as he retreats out of the room. Eduardo’s senses feel heightened in the deafening silence, so he hears the creaking of the floor stop for a minute or two as Mark pauses in the living room. 

Eduardo wonders if maybe Mark is debating whether or not to come back in, say more, try and convince him even further. Part of him wants this to happen desperately and the other half is terrified of the mere possibility. But, it only takes a minute or two, but then the sound of footsteps resume and then Mark is gone as swiftly as he came. 

Just when Eduardo thought his life couldn’t be any more upside-down. 

//

At first, nothing changes. 

He goes about his business as usual: working, drinking, fucking. He stays away from conferences and charity events altogether, finally putting his foot down and telling his boss he just can’t do it. She looks a little disappointed but understands. 

Eduardo just doesn’t want anything like _that_ to happen again, running into Mark or Dustin or Chris. It just… it wouldn’t be good and he knows it. 

Two things stay, however. 

Eduardo can’t bring himself to throw away the business card Chris pressed into his hand that one morning. He continues to cover it up with things, piling yesterday’s newspapers and magazines on top of it so he doesn’t have to look at it when he sits at the island, eating his breakfast or dinner. He couldn’t stand the way it felt like it was _staring him down_ , almost daring him in some way. But, whenever Eduardo goes to recycle all the papers he’d buried it underneath, he always fishes the card out before trashing them. He can’t explain why, because he doesn’t _know_ why… it just happens. 

The second thing is that he can’t make Mark’s words stop bouncing around in his head. 

Not just the part where Mark said he still cares (though Eduardo has lost more than a few hours of sleep contemplating that one), but when Mark said he was hurting people who care about him. It’s hard to believe there are people who think about him often enough to worry for him and just hope he’s okay.

He hadn’t really thought about that before. 

Because, throughout everything, he’s segregated his life. He’s put everyone into neat little boxes and made sure that this—whatever he’s doing, this downward spiral—was kept very separate from everything else. He’s drawn lines he’s tried not to cross and made rules for himself that he’s broken, because as long as things are self-inflicted they are okay. He never meant to _hurt_ anyone else. 

But he _has_ , because this is life and it refuses to be sectioned away like that; it blurs lines and breaks through walls and gets messy, and mistakes are made and regrets had because that’s what people _do_. 

The thought rolls around in his mind for a while before it actually changes anything. 

Eduardo is at a club, flirting outrageously with a guy named Seth. They’ve been chatting at the bar for a while, Eduardo buying him more and more drinks and drinking more and more himself. Seth has brown hair and green eyes, but something about him is still vaguely Mark-ish… Eduardo doesn’t know if it’s the curls in his hair or the intense clarity of his eyes, or the young, passionate, intense energy about him (though the guy is only two years younger than Eduardo because _he asked_ , _okay_ , but for some reason Eduardo feels not only _so_ much older and wiser, he also feels wearier). 

Eduardo’s been drinking a lot too, so he excuses himself to slip into the bathroom. He’s standing at the sink washing his hands, when he looks up quickly into the mirror. But something catches his eye and he does a double take, forcing himself to face his reflection. 

The dark bruising Mark has talked about is there, as are some other indicators. Something in his pupils seem _dead_ , like there’s no light in them, and his cheeks look drawn and ashen. Wrinkles are starting around his eyes, and the way his mouth is set is _tight_ , uncompromising, forced. He hates it, hates the way it looks on him and finds it difficult to recognize his true self underneath this toughened, harsh shell, like searching for a business card out of a mountain of trash. 

And this is when the thought that he can’t banish, no matter how much he tries, becomes whole. 

This is it. He’d been planning on going back out there and taking Seth home and fucking him and leaving in the morning, or the middle of the night if he had to, and that _will hurt him_. Not many people want to wake up to an empty bed after they fell asleep with someone beside them, and if they think they do, they’re either lying or running from something as much as Eduardo is. 

But it doesn’t stop there. Eduardo will hate himself for doing it afterwards, which will hurt him, so he’ll lash out—at a coworker or a stranger, or maybe even someone he knows, that hadn’t stopped him when Chris and Dustin were in his path—and then that will hurt _them_ and it’s all just so damned cyclic, and it won’t cease unless Eduardo forces it to. 

His heart is pounding in his chest and his hands are shaking when he looks back down at them, but it’s far from a panic attack. Eduardo feels the most real and clear he has in _months_. 

He rushes out of the club, apologizing profusely if hurriedly to Seth (managing not to say _why_ ) before leaving, trying to make it home before he loses the feeling because _this is it,_ he can break out of this and everything will be better and things will stop now and…

Eduardo makes it home, rushes through the front door like he’s on fire and heads straight to the island. He finds the card at the bottom of the heap like he always does, and digs his phone out of his pocket. He looks at the rigid, sharp black print of the phone number on stark white paper, and freezes. 

Suddenly this doesn’t feel like such a breakthrough. It feels fucking _bloodcurdling_ , the last thing Eduardo ever wants to do. He walks backward until he hits the couch and sinks into it, business card and phone still in his head, like they’re going to face off head to head. 

And even worse, his brain won’t _shut up_ and let him think it out. His thoughts are racing, throwing in other options like _there are other ways to end this cycle_ and _what’s the point, you can’t change, you’d be better off dead at this point_ and _quit turning everything you touch to shit and just end this_ , _save everyone the trouble_. 

Just like that, Eduardo’s meaning of _fear_ is completely redefined, because he has never been as scared as he is right now. His hands are shaking and his nervous, trembling hands flip over the business card just for something to do. And _there_ —

Eduardo exhales, smoothing his thumb over messy black pen, Mark’s scrawl. It says, simple and matter-of-fact:

 

_If you ever need someone._

 

_\--M_

 

And underneath is a cell phone number. 

He feels so relieved, he could cry. It makes sense, the pause in footsteps as Mark had left. Eduardo remembers having the card with him then, having taken it out of his pocket and left it on the counter earlier, and promptly forgot about it until he picked it up and put it in his wallet the next morning, taking it back home with him. Mark must have seen lying there and scribbled down his phone number. 

Eduardo dials and holds the phone to his ear, his heart in his throat, because what if Mark doesn’t pick up and Eduardo is left with his racing, petrifying thoughts again?

It rings once.

It rings twice.

There is a click. 

A muffled noise. 

Finally, “Hello?”

Mark’s voice is inquisitive, since he doesn’t know who’s on the other end, and Eduardo lets out a shaky sigh to hear it. 

“ _Mark_ ,” he says, his voice cracking in the middle. 

“W—Wait, hold on…” There’s a moment of shuffling and the sound of a door clicking shut, and then it’s silent. Mark speaks again. “Wardo?” he asks, his tone confused and worried. 

“Mark, I… I’m sorry to call you like this, I just--”

“Bullshit Wardo, you can call me anytime. What’s wrong?” He sounds so concerned that all Eduardo wants to do is put his mind at ease but he _can’t_ …

Eduardo shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, pulling on it a little out of nervousness. “I don’t know, Mark, I just… Can you come? Here?” His voice sounds wobbly and defenseless even to his own ears, and he _hates it_. “Now?”

“Yes,” Mark says without hesitation. 

“I only—wait, what?” Eduardo is shocked; he hadn’t actually expected Mark to say yes, at least not right away. 

“Yes, I’ll come. Wardo, I’ll leave right now.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. Look, Wardo, I’ll be there in half an hour. Don’t go anywhere, just—hold on, okay?” 

Eduardo swallows and nods, jittery, before he remembers Mark can’t see him. “Yes, okay.”

There’s shuffling on the line, and then Eduardo is suddenly choked with the familiar feeling for Mark that he spent all of his college years trying to banish. “Mark?” he asked, his voice high and tremulous. 

“Yeah?” Mark asks, breathless. 

“Just…” He breathes out and shakes his head, “Mark, thank you,” he says, sounding wrecked and a mess but above all, honest. 

“Of course,” Mark says softly. There is silence between them for a moment and then Mark says, “I have to hang up, I have to drive—but I’ll be right there. Wardo, just… don’t do anything, okay?”

“I won’t,” Eduardo says, and for the first time, he believes it.

“Okay,” Mark says, and he sounds like he believes it too. “I’m gonna hang up now.”

Eduardo can’t help it, he laughs, and it feels like a revelation. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Mark says, and then there is a click. 

Eduardo is just as alone as he was before he called, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like it. 

//

Eduardo had left his door unlocked in his haste to get in the house, so half an hour later, Mark walks right in. He looks… well, he looks like a wreck, and coming from Eduardo, that’s saying something. 

He himself is sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in a corner, because… Well, honestly, he’s not quite sure why. He just felt like he needed to contain himself, but now he feels a little bit silly and very, very small. 

“Wardo,” Mark exhales, relief coloring every centimeter of his face, and Eduardo feels _so guilty_ for worrying him. Regardless, Mark rushes over and is kneeling in front of Eduardo, looking at him with that intense concentration only he can achieve. 

Eduardo can feel tears welling in his eyes and he feels broken, fucked-up, damaged goods. He buries his face in his arms because he doesn’t mind Mark looking at him, he just doesn’t want to see what will be reflected back. 

Mark reaches out and touches carefully, fingertips light on the skin of Eduardo’s hand as he gently tilts the business card so he can read the other side, the one with the phone number Eduardo just can’t bring himself to call. 

He doesn’t try and take it from Eduardo’s death grip, just removes his hand and says in such a wracked whisper, “Wardo, what can I _do_?”

Eduardo wipes at his eyes furiously with the back of his hand and looks at Mark. Really _looks_ at him, taking in the gently concerned expression on his face and the way he’s holding himself a little bit back, like he doesn’t want to overwhelm Eduardo or force himself on him in any way. He thinks about the Mark he knew at Harvard, and how _that_ Mark feels forever away… Would that Mark have left his cell number in case Eduardo needed him, would he have come without a moment’s hesitation? 

Shaking his head a little, he forces those thoughts out of his head. “Just…” he lifts the card. “I need help. I can’t seem to…” he trails off and gives a watery, self-deprecating smile that makes the set of Mark’s mouth tighten a little. 

There is millisecond of panic as Eduardo frantically wonders what he did wrong, but the expression relaxes on Mark’s face as quickly as it came. Mark hesitates for a second and then gestures at the space next to Eduardo. “Can I?” he asks. 

It’s not a full question but Eduardo understands, nods quickly, and watches as Mark settles into the space beside him. He’s very careful not to touch Eduardo in the process and even once he’s still he holds himself several inches apart, like he thinks Eduardo will shrink away or possibly shatter at contact. 

So when Mark turns to look at him, Eduardo shifts his body so that he is more or less curled against Mark’s side, resting his head on Mark’s shoulder and breathing out heavily, counting breaths and trying to remember to inhale. He can feel Mark relax against him, bringing up a hand and cautiously rubbing circles into Eduardo’s back. 

And it feels good, the contact… Eduardo wasn’t sure that it would; he was worried that it would make him oversensitive and twitchy. But it doesn’t; it feels almost _reverent_ and somehow tremblingly beautiful. He hasn’t _touched_ someone in so long (well, at least in a way that wasn’t fucking), and not like this. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. It’s probably an embarrassing amount of time, if he’s honest with himself, because it takes a while before he feels whole enough to gather his limbs back together and sit on his own. 

Mark looks at him questioningly, like he wants to know what’s going on in Eduardo’s head. He exhales and tries to meet Mark’s unflinching gaze. The blue eyes steady him, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. 

“I need to call. I just… I’ve been a _mess_ and tonight I almost, I almost…” his breaths come too fast for a second and he hiccups with it, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lower lip so hard he can taste coppery blood. 

In the space between them, Mark fumbles for his hand and grasps it tightly, lacing their fingers together. Eduardo’s eyes fly open in surprise and he turns to look at Mark head-on. 

“I know,” Mark says simply, nodding, giving Eduardo’s hand a squeeze. 

And it is that which gives Eduardo the courage to look into Eduardo’s eyes and say, “I need help.” 

Somehow, the world doesn't end. He doesn't feel his father's disapproval radiating at him from thousands of miles away, and Mark doesn’t look at him any differently, and he doesn't even feel any weaker. If anything, he feels lighter. 

Mark shrugs in the same matter of fact way he always did. "So call," he says. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Eduardo looks down at where their hands and twined together, and he squeezes back. He raises his other hand, and dials with shaking hands.

Thankfully, she picks up at her home number. Eduardo can’t remember the particulars of the conversation, but he knows they talk for about half an hour, and afterwards, Eduardo doesn't feel as scared anymore. She's just a person, and she's nice, and she sets him up for an appointment tomorrow afternoon. Mark holds his hand through the whole thing.

When he hangs up, he feels exhausted. Mark is looking at him, relieved and proud but also exhausted, and Eduardo smiles at him and says, "Thank you."

It is a real smile, not forced or self-deprecating or guilty. Mark smiles back, easy but wide, and says, "You needed someone."

“Yeah, I did,” Eduardo admits, tamping down on the words he really wants to say. Looking down at where they are still holding hands, he hopes that somehow Mark knows he means: _I didn't need just anyone; I needed_ you.

Mark yawns, and Eduardo laughs a little. Mark blushes and mutters, "Shut up."

"You can go home, if you want," Eduardo tries, because Mark has done _a lot_ , he's done _so much_ , and Eduardo couldn't ask him for more.

 

Somehow Mark seems to know, like he can sense the underlying fear in the statement. "Don't be an idiot," he shoots back just as quickly. His tone isn’t cutting in the least, but instead understanding and insistent. "I'm not leaving."

Eduardo knows that expression of Mark's and remembers the determination that always accompanied it, so he doesn't try to convince him anymore. "Okay," he allows.

Mark smiles at him, standing up and using their clasped hands to pull Eduardo up too. He leads them over to the couch and collapses into it, dragging Eduardo down with him. They sit on adjacent cushions, bodies apart but hands still tightly laced together even as they both drift into sleep.

//

When Eduardo wakes, he has a crick in his neck from sleeping in such an uncomfortable, awkward position. He blinks awake slowly, feeling a little bit gross from sleeping in his clothes, but then last night comes rushing back and he doesn’t know _how_ to feel. 

From the bathroom, Eduardo can hear the soft echo of Mark’s voice. He focuses a little and realizes that Mark is wrapping up a conversation on the phone; from his tone, Eduardo guesses it’s probably with Chris. He can’t decipher the words, but soon there is the click of the doorknob and Mark walks out. 

He stops in his tracks and blinks a little at the sight of Eduardo sitting up on the sofa. “You’re awake,” he says. 

Eduardo’s nervousness comes rushing back all of a sudden, and he clasps his hands together to fight it off. “Um, yeah.” Mark gives a jerky nod and Eduardo wonders how he managed to fuck this up. 

“Sorry, I can—um… I can act like I’m still asleep if you wanted to… you know… leave,” he says, forcing the words out. 

Mark’s brow furrows, obviously confused. “Why would I want that?” 

Eduardo blushes, worrying at his lip and shrugging. Mark smiles at him, and it helps Eduardo put his fears at ease. 

“I do have somewhere to be though,” he says. Eduardo freezes. Mark sees it immediately and start sputtering. “No, not now, just—I have to be somewhere this afternoon. Um. We could split a cab? On the way to your appointment?” 

Eduardo nods immediately, and Mark looks much more at ease. He’s not used to being around Mark anymore; he can’t read him _at all_ like he used to. “Yeah. That’s, um. Thanks.” Mark shrugs again like it’s nothing. Eduardo stands up and smoothes out his shirt. “Let me just get ready and then we can go. Help yourself to anything,” he adds, gesturing to the kitchen. Mark nods, and Eduardo slips into his room and tries to figure out why his heart is beating so fast. 

//

The cab ride is mostly uneventful. They sit in relative silence the whole time, with Mark looking out the window and Eduardo trying not to worry obsessively about the appointment. 

But the quiet isn’t weird. 

There is this… _moment_ , though. They’ve said their brief goodbyes (since apparently they don’t know how to be around each other now, when they’re not in crisis mode or screaming at each other), and Mark is turned to leave until all of a sudden he turns back and looks at Wardo. 

“You know, I mean it.”

Eduardo blinks, because he has no idea what Mark is talking about. “What?”

Mark tightens his hand where he’s gripping the top of the car door, and Eduardo can see it go white-knuckled. Mark swallows, and then tries again. “What I wrote on the back of the business card. Wardo, I… I mean it.” 

Eduardo can hear the words coming out of his mouth, and he understands them—after all, Mark came, he’s _here_ , so of course he means it—he just feels like Mark is trying to communicate something to him underneath the surface, and he’s not getting it. But he knows anyway, because Mark is looking at him desperately, like he _really needs_ Eduardo to hear him on this. 

Mark’s eyes are squeezed shut, as if this is frustrating or difficult for him. When he opens them, his voice is even and controlled, though the edge of pleading to it is still audible. “And if you ever… again… I’ll be there too. You know that, right?”

Comprehension dawns on Eduardo’s face, and he understands what Mark is trying to say. He’s saying _I want to do better this time_ and _you know you can come to me_ and, to use an old phrase, _I’m the guy who wants to help_. 

And Eduardo can’t help it, he fucking _beams_ at Mark. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little bit breathless. “Yeah, okay.” It feels like a revelation. 

He sees his own expression reflected back on Mark’s face, and he can even see Mark’s rare dimples. Something like _hope_ surges through Eduardo, and he realizes he hasn’t felt that in a long time. 

Without another word, Mark steps back and closes the door of the taxi. He stands on the street and watches it pull away, and Eduardo tries not to smile shamelessly in the backseat. 

//

_"but i don't know_

_the nights are cold_

_and i remember warmth_

_i could have sworn_

_i wasn't alone..."_

//

 

The therapist is a lovely woman by the name of Elaine Irvine. She’s probably in her early forties, with dark hair and laugh lines and understanding eyes. She asks him to sit down and lays out the rules for him: if anything ever comes up that he doesn’t want to talk about, all he has to do is say so, if he ever has any questions for her then he should feel free to ask them and she’ll do her best to answer, and lastly, she really wants him to feel comfortable and just view their session as a normal conversation. 

“So,” she finishes, spreading her hands. “Tell me about yourself.” 

Surprisingly, Eduardo finds that he does. 

He talks about growing up in Brazil and loving it there, and then moving to Miami and hating it, about his father and mother and their expectations, about Harvard and much he loved it, about Singapore and San Francisco and his job. 

Elaine—who immediately corrects him when he calls her “Mrs. Irvine”—asks him to expand here and there but mostly just listens. Sometimes she asks a question or two that will make him pause and force him to think, but it’s nothing too deep and Eduardo breathes easier. 

About halfway through the session when there is a pause in conversation, Elaine asks cautiously, “Do you want to talk about why you called?” 

This part is harder. He tells her sparingly about his role in Facebook, the dilution, and the depositions, before launching into _all_ of the shit he’s been through in the past months. Eduardo leaves nothing out—the guy who hit him, the drugs, his arguments with Chris and Mark and Dustin, his realization in the club’s bathroom—it’s all in the open now. He doesn’t look at the clock, but Elaine told him last night she would clear her schedule when he told her the thoughts he was having and how serious it was. It feels like a long time and by the end his voice is hoarse from talking. Elaine doesn’t interrupt once, just nods in the appropriate places and gets up to get him a bottle of water at one point, like somehow she knows he just needs to get it all out. 

When he finally makes it to last night, she stops him. “You called Mark?” There’s no inflection in the statement, but Eduardo thinks she’s probably surprised. _He’d_ have been surprised if their places were reversed. 

He nods. 

“And he came?”

Eduardo nods again. 

“Why do you think he did that?”

Eduardo’s taken aback by the question, and stares open-mouthed at the floor, struggling for an answer. In the end, the best thing he can do is shrug, clueless. They look at each other silently for a few moments before Eduardo continues. 

Just as he runs out of things to say, Elaine looks at her watch. “The session’s just about over, Eduardo. Any questions for me?”

He pauses, because he does have a few, but he doesn’t want them to come out rude. “That’s it? You don’t want to, like… give me advice, or anything?” He winces immediately, because somehow that still came out as impolite. 

But Elaine laughs. “This isn’t a formal session, but do you want my advice?” Eduardo nods vigorously. 

“I think that you should probably remain celibate for a while. It seems like you don’t like the way sex is making you feel right now, and if it’s making you suicidal—” Eduardo flinches at the word, because even though he knows it’s true he doesn’t like it. Elaine sees this immediately and corrects herself. “—making you feel _imbalanced_ , then maybe you need to take a step back and go without for a while, until you feel ready to handle the emotions it gives you. But if you were my patient, I’d also recommend that you spend more time building relationships. Go out with friends or coworkers, even date if you feel so inclined. Think about the people in your life and what they mean to you, what expectations they have for you, and you of them. Consider your expectations for yourself.” 

She looks at him with carefully assessing eyes and smirks a little. “I know it’s a lot, but I think it will help.” Eduardo nods seriously, and resolves to try.

Elaine looks like she sees this in him, and then adds, “Eduardo, would you like to consider seeing me on a regular basis?” 

He sighs. He knew this question would come, and going into it he thought he would say no. But _fuck_ , this actually has made him feel a lot better. “I think—I think I would,” he decides. It certainly can’t hurt. 

“Good,” she says, smiling at him, and turning to her appointment book. She sets him up for appointments twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays, and as he’s at the door about to leave, she says, “Did you have any more questions?”

Eduardo hesitates. He _does_ have one, but he’s not sure if he should ask it or not. Finally he just gives up the inner debate and goes for it. “How do you know Chris?”

Elaine smiles. “I’ve sort of become Facebook’s go-to shrink,” she says with a shrug. 

Eduardo feels like there’s more to the story there, but doesn’t push it. “He seems to think very highly of you, for what it’s worth.”

She laughs. “Oh, it wasn’t always that way. The first time we met he absolutely _grilled_ me.”

 

The thought makes Eduardo smile. “I’ll bet,” he replies, because yeah, he can totally picture that. 

Elaine shrugs with a grin, like _so what, I can take it_. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, Eduardo. Be good to yourself.” 

Oddly enough, he feels like that might be possible. He’s not _fixed_ , not by a long shot, but it’s a start. 

//

Three months later, Eduardo’s doing pretty well.

He’s still seeing Elaine twice a week, and he’s still surprised to find how helpful it is. Her advice is always enlightening and it’s also good just to talk to someone who he knows isn’t going to judge him or seem disappointed. 

He occupies his nights better now. He hangs out with coworkers—they even go to bars together, but since he’s with them he doesn’t even feel any temptations, not really—or he works (but not so it’s killing him, not anymore), he’s also taken up jogging now, and returned to one of his original beloved hobbies: the weather. 

Thinking about expectations went a long way. It’s helped him a lot. Eduardo’s started to make peace with the idea of his father (though not his father himself, there is too much history there for the relationship to be repaired in three months). He’s also apologized to Chris and Dustin and things seem fine with them… The three of them have hung out a few times. Dustin is back to his usual, happy-go-lucky self, and Chris is cautiously optimistic. So that’s a win. 

It’s pretty freeing to realize what you expect from people, to be honest. Eduardo likes knowing where he stands with people. After Elaine’s suggestion, he even made up a list of people and wrote down expectations beside them. It may have been a little literal, but it was good to see it written down like that, in black and white. 

The only thing is Mark. Beside him, all Eduardo has is a question mark. 

For a lot of reasons. 

He hasn’t seen Mark since that night—well, day—and he can’t figure out why. 

He’s not blaming Mark either. He knows if he wants to see Mark, all he has to do is pick up the phone and call, but every time he does, he just can’t bring himself to go through with it. 

Eduardo thinks part of it was the lingering awkwardness between them on that taxi ride. He didn’t like it. It made his fingers itch and his brain spin circles. He doesn’t want that to happen again. 

But he would be lying to himself if he didn’t say that part of it is that his final memory of Mark is _perfect_ , Mark looking at him so _happy_ and Eduardo feeling so good for the first time in such a long time. And honestly, he doesn’t want to ruin that. 

To make things even more complicated, the one part of Elaine’s advice he hasn’t taken is the dating thing. 

Mark’s words, “ _I still care about you_ ”, still ring around in his brain at the most random moments, and when he thinks about Mark holding his hand that night he catches his breath. 

Eduardo wants those things to _mean something_ , and if they turn out to be less than what he wants, he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle it. 

So, as old-fashioned and weird as it is, Eduardo is sort of _saving himself_ (oh god, it sounds so _Victorian_ ) for Mark. And the longer he waits to do anything about it, the more ridiculous everything is. 

Everything comes to a head when he sees pictures of Mark and _some guy_ in a gossip magazine. 

He’s at the dentist, minding his own business and flipping through _People_ with some sort of morbid curiosity, and then _bam—_ there is Mark, strolling down the sidewalk with some random guy, smiling unguardedly and laughing. They aren’t holding hands or anything so obvious, but there is very little space between their bodies, like on the next step their shoulders would probably bump together playfully and Eduardo feels _sick_. 

Miraculously, he makes it through his dentist appointment without vomiting. 

When he goes home he finds the pictures online because he’s a masochist, and for the first time he feels like he could regress. He feels angry and reckless and he just wants to go out and _fuck something_ hard and without restraint. 

The worst part is that he has no right to be angry, because Eduardo had his chance and now it looks like he blew it. He has no claim on Mark, no matter how much he may want to. All he’s ever done is held Mark’s hand. 

It’s painful because he hadn’t forgotten these feelings, they have this unwanted familiarity to them, but he hadn’t felt them in so long that he’s disappointed in himself. 

But he wants so badly not to slip backwards, not after all this hard work and time, so he tries not to distract himself. He watches the weather channel and analyzes the patterns, reads a chapter of a book, makes dessert—nothing works. Eduardo still wants to do something stupid. 

His mind can’t help remembering the last time he saw Mark, the way he’d said, “And if you ever… again… I’ll be there too,” and it gives him the reason he needs to grab for the phone. 

The phone rings four times, and Eduardo has to count in his head to distract himself from hanging up. When Mark finally does pick up, there is still silence and Eduardo's definitely worrying at this point.

It's not for very long—maybe ten seconds—and then there is a fumbled sound and some arguing in the background before Mark's voice finally breaks through. "Wardo?" he says. It sounds worried and Eduardo immediately feels shitty for calling, because this is not that big of a deal.

"Yeah, hi," he says sheepishly. "I was just—"

"Is everything okay?" Mark asks again, still in that same scared tone.

Eduardo exhales. "Everything's fine Mark, I was just feeling... I don't know, like before—"

Mark makes a sound like an angry growl and Eduardo immediately knows it was the wrong thing to say.

"No, no—not as bad or anything like that, but... I was kind of getting in my own head a little and was wondering if you could… I don't know. Distract me?" he finishes weakly, feeling like the silliest person on the planet.

But when Mark replies, he just sounds relieved. "Yeah, of course," he says immediately, like he's not at all thrown or confused by the situation, like it’s a given. 

And then Eduardo is off, rambling at miles a minute. "Are you sure you don't mind? Because honestly, it's nothing like last time and I really could just make it through myself if you're busy or just don't want to come, it's okay—"

Mark cuts him off with an impatient groan. "Wardo, save it; I'm coming," he replies, in that no-nonsense attitude. Eduardo tries not to smile too widely at that.

"Actually," Mark continues, "There’s kind of a perfect place halfway between us, if you're up for it."

His tone is a little unsure, but Eduardo goes right along. "Of course, I'm up for anything," he says with an exhausted laugh, knowing he probably sounds too excited but not really caring. "What is it?"

Mark _tsk_ s at Eduardo, informing him with an edge of laughter in his voice, "I don't want to spoil the surprise." Eduardo rolls his eyes and tries not to be overly pleased. "I'll text you the address," Mark tacks on, and then they exchange goodbyes and hang up. 

It's only after the fact that Eduardo considers how natural and easy that truly felt.

//

Mark is waiting when Eduardo’s cab pulls up, leaning against an ivy-covered fence. There’s a backpack slung over one shoulder and something about the look on his face just reminds Eduardo of Mark at Harvard, he can’t quite place why. There are some differences; Mark’s wearing a jacket instead of a hoodie, but his hands are still shoved in his pockets. He looks… comfortable, if that’s the right word. Like he belongs. _Just like he belonged with that guy_ , Eduardo’s brain supplies unhelpfully. He can’t quite cut off the thought before it seeps in like poison. 

But Mark turns, sees Eduardo, and his face breaks out into a cautious grin. Somehow, that’s what banishes the thought completely. Eduardo doesn’t understand why Mark seems to have that effect on him; he just knows that he does, and that’s all that matters. 

“Hey,” he says, a little awkwardly, smiling tentatively back as he steps out of the cab. He looks around them and sees nothing, just a gate to the side of Mark. “What are we doing here?”

Mark’s smile turns into a smirk. “We’re gonna have fun, promise.” He heads towards the gate and pushes it open, walking through and waiting for Eduardo to follow. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Mark’s look just a touch uncertain, like he’s not sure Eduardo’s going to come. 

But, of course, he does. He never really had any other choice with Mark, never really ever wanted one. 

They walk further and further back without speaking, the only sounds the soft grass under their feet and the crickets chirping. Soon, there’s a murmur of people in the distance. Eduardo turns to him, a slightly questioning look on his face, and Mark just looks back with a spreading grin, excitement in his eyes. 

At last they come upon it. There’s a group of maybe forty or fifty people, all spread out on blankets in the grass and facing a huge screen. Eduardo stops in his tracks, looking out at them, brow furrowed. “Mark, what…”

“It’s like a drive-in, but without the cars,” Mark supplies, blushing a little, looking down at his feet. “I dunno, I just thought…” he shrugs, not finishing the thought. 

Eduardo turns to look at him, and he knows his face is probably lit up. “Mark, this is _so cool_. How did you ever find out about this?”

Mark smiles, confidence a little more evident as they continue on, trying to find a spot. “It was one of the first things Chris and Dustin and I did, that first summer in Palo Alto. Dustin found out about it—I have no idea how. They show different movies and sometimes they do double features, and it’s something we would do, just the three of us, every once in a while.”

It’s quite odd. Something in Mark’s voice sounds a little nostalgic for that time, and Eduardo knows that a while ago he would feel jealous, even hurt. But now he just feels… well, he feels happy and a little honored that Mark would take him here, which so obviously means something to him, as much as he might try to pretend otherwise. “I wish I could have been there,” he says. 

He winces as soon as he says it, because that’s too much, too honest, gives too much away… But still, that’s progress. In the past, that would have been an opening line for an argument, screamed across a deposition table or a conference hall or something else equally nauseating, but now it’s just… not. 

Mark knows it too, meets his gaze and there is wisdom behind his eyes, the kind that comes from having made mistakes and learned from them. 

Eduardo thinks that maybe he could do something then. Apologize, maybe, or ask Mark about the guy in the pictures, or, if he wasn’t so scared, lean in and kiss him. But Mark returns his gaze to his feet and nods with a barely perceptible smile, and the moment is gone. 

Eventually they find a semi-secluded spot where they can still see. Mark pulls a blanket from his backpack, spreading it down on the ground for them to sit on. He also pulls out a pack of Red Vines, which makes Eduardo laugh so much he can’t breathe for a full five minutes while Mark pouts beside him, petulant and entirely unmeant. Then a hush falls over the crowd and the projector starts to flicker, and a familiar green _Lucasfilm_ shows up. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. 

He turns to Mark, who looks a little mischievous. “I thought it was funny,” he shrugs, an edge of laughter in his voice he’s trying hard to stifle. 

Eduardo smiles back, poking Mark in the ribs. “You’re ridiculous.”

Now Mark is openly laughing, loud enough that the people closest to the turn around and glare. Mark scowls back at them, and they turn around looking a little afraid. But his grin returns when he looks back at Eduardo. “I haven’t changed,” he sighs, tone light and joking. It’s like it doesn’t even occur to him the other way Eduardo could take that. 

But it’s okay, since Eduardo knows exactly what he means. In all the _best_ ways, Mark hasn’t changed one bit. 

//

Somewhere along the line (Eduardo has no idea when), it becomes a routine. Eduardo starts calling Mark when he’s at his lowest, and they go to dinner or a movie or just go _out_. And it helps. It gets his mind off whatever it’s on at the time and he has fun with Mark. Eventually it gets to the point where he and Mark are seeing each other pretty regularly, and not because Eduardo is feeling down but just because it feels like they haven’t seen each other in a while. It’s like their friendship has sprung up again right under their feet without either of them ever really noticing. 

Eduardo tries not to worry about it too much, since he knows he tends to over-think things. But he has a theory. Just like their friendship fell apart under crisis, of something they made together that grew beyond what either of them ever anticipated, it took a crisis to bring them back to each other, to make them realize how much they meant to one another. 

But they’re not in crisis mode anymore. Eduardo’s therapy is still continuing and he’s feeling better about a lot of things. He’s apologized to Chris and Dustin. Dustin took it easily, patting him on the back with a very genuine, “It’s whatever, Wardo. We’re fine; we’ll always be fine.” Chris was a little more cautious, asking Eduardo if he had gotten help and wanting to make sure everything was okay, but that doesn’t unsettle Eduardo one bit. That’s just _Chris_ ; it’s how he shows people he cares. He’s even hung out with them both a couple times (with Mark of course). Things aren’t like college—they’ve all grown too much for that—but it still feels like _them_. 

Actually, Chris and Dustin find it pretty humorous that he and Mark are hanging out as much as they are. 

“Dude,” Dustin tries to explain one night when Mark is stuck at the office, fiddling with some update, “you have to admit, the things you guys do are date-like activities.” He’s all drunken honesty, slurring a little and giggling somewhat through the words. 

Eduardo, who’s had one drink and is far from drunk, squawks in protest and shakes his head. “We’re _friends_ ,” he says, emphasizing the word in hopes that they’ll get it. Friends is what’s important, anything else is too much in danger of breaking this, this, this _thing_ between them again. “We hang out, it’s no big deal.”

Chris gives him very skeptical eyes, smirking a little. “Don’t you think—I mean, don’t you think that if you _tried_ , if you guys talked--”

“I can’t do that,” Eduardo says, thinking of the picture Mark walking closely on the sidewalk with that guy (because that _guy_ is never too far from Eduardo’s mind). “Not with Mark, not after, just, _everything_. I can’t ask that of him,” he decides, trying to sound as firm as possible. “I’m too screwed up. He deserves something… normal.”

Chris looks won’t meet his eyes and Dustin looks at him kind of sadly, and Eduardo doesn’t try to interpret what that means. 

//

Mark is still Elaine’s favorite subject, more or less, to talk about in therapy. 

Eduardo keeps her updated about everything, so it’s only natural that Mark would come up from time to time. Whenever he does, Elaine gets this super-intense look on her face; like she’s concentrating so hard on understanding that it’s physically contorting her features. 

He tells her about the pictures in _People,_ about seeing Mark so openly happy and carefree and thinking _he deserves to look like that all the time_ and _I wish I could give him that_. Which, more than anything, is the sad and pathetic truth: he wants Mark to be happy more than he wants him for himself. 

Elaine has that reptilian gaze of extreme focus fixed on him, and Eduardo tries not to shrink underneath it. “Why don’t you think you could give him that, Eduardo?”

Eduardo heaves a sigh and shrugs a little. It’s going to come out self-pitying and awful and weak; he can feel it. “Because,” he tries. “Mark and I have been through too much with each other. We’ve seen each other at our worst and… you can’t forget that. There’s no coming back from it.”

She is silent for a few moments, not meeting his eyes and instead doodling down on the legal pad in front of her. “When was your worst?” He makes a face at her because she knows the answer, of course, so she amends her statement. “When was your worst with _Mark_?”

He doesn’t really expect that one, which may be why he flinches a little bit when it’s asked. There are so many options that he can’t think straight, and just starts rambling. “God, where do I start… There’s the first fight in Palo Alto, the dilution, the depositions, the panic attack, the screaming match at the conference, after the argument with Dustin—”

“But don’t you think,” Elaine begins, cutting him off. “Don’t you think that maybe those are all _high_ points?”

Eduardo looks at her like she’s just sprouted antlers. _High points_? What the hell? “Are you serious?”

She nods slowly. “The two of you have a tendency to push each other. Think of it like cause and effect. Those are low points, sure, but they’re followed by realizations and action and decisions. He’s pushed you into standing up for yourself and confronting yourself over and _over_ again, as much as you haven’t wanted to.” She meets his gaze and she must see the pure bewilderment there, because her lips twist upward in an amused smirk. “He’s seen you at your must vulnerable and also at some of your strongest points. Isn’t that what a relationship is, after all? Finding someone who sticks with you through thick and thin? Knows the best and the ugliest of you, but loves you anyway?”

Something is stuck in Eduardo’s throat, that’s why he can’t seem to make words come out. Finally he clears his throat. “Was that rhetorical?”

Elaine laughs, bright and assured. “You wish,” she answers simply. 

He sighs and tries again, goes for solemnity this time. His voice is lower because the words are more difficult to get out, even though it’s true. “Mark doesn’t love me.”

Silence fills up the room, as if they’re playing chicken and neither of them wants to be the first to break it. Finally Elaine starts over, trying a different tactic. “How do you _know_ that, though? Have you asked him?”

Eduardo shakes his head mutely. “If he did… I would know. Mark’s not like me; he doesn’t go for _caution_ —if he had feelings for me he would have said something.”

She gets that look on her face like she’s won. “What do we always say, Eduardo?”

He can’t help but smile; he walked right into this one. “Communication is a two way street.”

Elaine just nods at him a little proudly. “Sure is.”

//

He tries one night. They’re sprawled out on Mark’s couch. They had started out watching TV a while ago, some inane sitcom that Mark had been sure to mock and Eduardo had laughed along. But they turned it off at some point and now they’re just waxing poetic about anything and everything, staring up at the ceiling and fighting to keep their eyes open. 

Mark is talking about Facebook, how big it’s gotten and how different it is now. “The interns are so _young_ , Eduardo. It’s fucking weird, and it makes me feel so _old_.” Eduardo laughs lightly, because Mark may be older now but he’s still got that manic energy about him, and no one would ever dare call that _old._

“I’m serious,” Mark says over the trailing end of Eduardo’s laughter. “Like, sometimes I see them and it’s hard to remember that Facebook started inside a dorm room when we were their age. It feels so far away now.” 

The silence hovers between them. Eduardo is nodding even though Mark can’t see him, because he agrees. There are days when it’s hard to believe that boy who wrote the algorithm on the window is him, that they can possibly be the same person. 

“I never thought it would change everything,” Eduardo admits. “Maybe it was naive of me, but—I really thought I would come out of it all the same person.”

Mark sits up and twists in his seat so that he’s facing Eduardo. “What do you mean?”

Eduardo shrugs. “A lot of things. I don’t know. When you’re a college kid you think you’ve got the world figured out, you don’t know how easily things can break and that they can’t always be put back together the same way.”

“You’re talking about us, right?” Mark asks, his voice quiet and obviously nervous, almost pinched. 

“Part of it,” he continues. “Not just us, though. Mostly about me,” he laughs bitterly to himself. “I used to try and make everyone happy, all the time, and I used to be pretty successful, and now there’s just… me. I can’t do it anymore, and the people I care about deserve more than that.”

Mark makes a sound like he’s going to argue with that, but Eduardo isn’t done. “No, it’s true. I’m… I’m _broken_ now; I’m never going to be put back together the same way, and it’s silly to pretend otherwise.” 

Mark’s voice sounds darker, _angry_ when he speaks next. “So what, you think everyone should just give up on you? Push people away in the name of _saving them_?” He spits the words out like they’ve left a bad taste in his mouth, and Eduardo sits up to look at him. 

A scowl has settled like a thundercloud over Mark’s face, but Eduardo’s going to push back. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s my choice. All I want for them is happiness.”

“Don’t you think it’s their choice too, Wardo, whether or not they want you in their lives?”

“Who would want _me_?” he finishes, and the words crack in the air like a whip. Mark’s eyes widen and something sad settles into his eyes.

Eduardo breaks the gaze they’ve been holding. He’s never seen pity in Mark’s eyes and he doesn’t want to, not from the one person who always knew how to help him, how to keep him on the right track, who didn’t give up on him or act disappointed. He doesn’t think he could take that. 

“Wardo—” he tries, but Eduardo’s already pushing off the couch and heading from the door, something hot prickling behind his eyes. He would reply—apologize, maybe—but he doesn’t trust what he might say. 

He slams the door behind him and thinks that in the end, it’s for the best. 

//

Mark sends him voicemails and text messages and emails constantly the next week. Eduardo deletes everything without even opening them. 

But, because he’s a glutton for punishment, he goes online and finds the pictures again, just to remind himself what Mark deserves, what Mark can have without him. And he finds even more, pictures of Mark with other people. Colleagues, friends, potential boyfriends—anything’s possible. Besides, what they are doesn’t really matter. 

What matters is the expression on Mark’s face, the unguarded happiness that lights up his features. Mark has never worn that look with _Eduardo_ ; the closest they’ve come are shy, uncertain smiles. 

He tells Elaine all this in their next session. He also tells her about trying to talk to Mark and walking out. 

“I just…” he tries. “I don’t want that from him. I don’t want his pity, or his sympathy, or his _anything_ —I just want him,” he explains, looking up helplessly, trying to search Elaine’s carefully blank face for any hints, and of course, finding none. “I wish I could make him _understand_ ,” he finishes, looking back down at his hands. 

There is silence for a moment, and then Elaine is leaning forward and taking his hands. He almost starts at the contact, because that’s never happened before, but then he looks up at Elaine. Her face is _anything_ but carefully blank now. 

“Honey,” she begins, her tone indulgent with a touch of exasperation. “I need you to hear what I’m saying, okay?”

Eduardo nods, even though he still has basically no idea what’s going on. She takes a deep breath, but she’s still fighting a smile and looks full to burst with whatever she’s about to say. 

“ _Talk_ to Mark.”

Eduardo moves to interrupt immediately, because he just _did_ that, but she shakes her head before he can. 

“No, _talk_ to him. Let him talk back. Really _listen_ to what he’s trying to say. He may surprise you.”

And Eduardo… has absolutely no idea what to do with that. Because Elaine is looking at him like she’s trying to communicate something _really important_ , and Eduardo wants to understand, he really does, and he’s nodding like he gets it, and he’ll try, but— _what_?

“I’ll try,” he promises, nodding a little more. “I promise, I’ll try.”

Elaine sighs as she sits back in her seat, rolling her eyes a little fondly like she knows he doesn’t get it. “That’s all I ask.”

//

Turns out, though, he just can’t seem to work up the courage. There are a couple times when Chris and Dustin invite him out, and Eduardo knows that Mark will be there too, but he just… he _can’t_. 

Besides, the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he is about how he acted the last time he saw Mark. It made sense at the time, but now he’s just gathering more and more regrets about it. In the logical part of his brain he knows that’s probably a good reason for _seeing_ Mark, but at the same time, he wants to draw this out a little longer. He doesn’t want Mark to look at him differently, he doesn’t want him to realize how truly fucked-up he is, that he’s getting better but he’s still a long way from fine; he doesn’t want Mark to know how he looks at that photograph with such jealousy and envy and _want_. 

So he settles for a phone call. 

Phone calls are easier. There is no face-to-face, no eye contact, there are only words and blessedly indecipherable tones. 

He dials, eventually, around nine one night after an impossibly long day at work. He’s practically delirious with exhaustion, and he’s feeling restless and jittery and fed up with being scared and a little courageous. Of course, the bravery evaporates as soon as the phone starts to ring. 

Eduardo holds his breath, but there’s nothing, no one picks up. And then there is Mark’s voice, saying, “It’s Mark, leave a message,” completely blunt and easy-to-read, and Eduardo exhales. Thank _god_ for voicemail. 

Then there’s a beep and he has to speak, but he has no idea what to _say._

“Um, Mark,” he tries, already shaking his head at himself. Jesus fucking christ, this is _Mark_ , this should not be this hard. “Listen, I just wanted to apologize for what I said the other day, and for… uh, walking out on you like that. And ignoring your attempts to get in touch with me since then… _Fuck_ , hearing it out loud is awful—basically, I’m sorry for being an asshole. I get it if you’re screening my call because of that, because I deserve it. But I, I want to talk to you, about what happened and also just about me, because—”

The machine cuts him off. 

Eduardo curses at the phone in his hand and immediately hits redial. He’s got momentum, there’s no way he’s stopping now. 

“ _Fuck_ , your voicemail cut me off. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that, I think you should know I’m really fucked up when it comes to you. Not that you’re the reason, or anything like that—I mean, we’re _both_ the reason, really, but that’s not the point. I just mean that, it’s really confusing for me because I don’t know what I feel for you or even what I _should_ feel for you. I don’t know if you’re a best friend or a lifeline or a… a _what_ , but I do know that you’re the only person I can be completely honest with about that stuff. The scary stuff. And—”

There’s that _fucking_ beep again. Godammit. 

“Okay, I really _hate_ your voicemail, okay? It sucks. But I was _saying_ that you’re so easy to be honest with, about everything, and when I said what I said last time all I could see was pity lurking behind your eyes, and that fucking _sucked_. I’ve gotten that enough, and I don’t want that from you, okay? …Okay. _Fuck_ , this next part is hard to say, because—because I’m also really jealous when it comes to you. Which, I know, we’ve never been _together_ , not in that way, but ever since that first time I called I thought we might… I don’t know, _get there_? Some day? But then I saw those tabloid pictures, you probably know the ones, of you and some random guy walking down the street and—”

Another beep.

“I just, I was okay with going slow and I still am, I promise, but I do want to know that we’re going _somewhere_. I know I don’t deserve you because I’m _a mess_ and you shouldn’t have to put up with me, with _that_ , but… You said—forever ago, you said you still cared about me, and I’m like 99% sure you meant like _that_ , like the same way I want now, but if I’m wrong… Hell, if I’m wrong you should probably just never see me or talk to me again because I’m an idiot and there isn’t a lot of dignity in these messages anyway. And I should say these things in person, I know, but I’m just _bad_ at talking to you because your _face_ and your _eyes_ get involved and my thoughts turn incoherent, and… yeah. At least I’ve said it all now. Even if it is to your voicemail because I’m _terrified_. So.. okay. I should hang up before I get cut off again. Um. Call me.”

As soon as he sets the phone down, he is hit with a truckload of embarrassment and worry and mostly _what the fuck was that_. 

Most of it must have been the sheer exhaustion talking; because that was a rambling mess of words he didn’t even mean to say. Not to say it isn’t all _true_ , because it _is_ , but he didn’t mean for it to come pouring out of him like that at the first opportunity. _Fuck_. 

Eduardo rubs his face over his hands and then flops down on the couch, resolving not to think about it at least for the length of one nap. 

//

Except the nap doesn’t last very long, because someone is pounding on his neighbor’s door with what must be all their intensity, and it rouses him from sleep. They’re also calling something, which is even more annoying. _God_ , why won’t they just let them _in_ already. Eduardo moves to cover his head with a pillow and muffle the noise, but as he shifts he can hear it, distinct. 

The voice is calling, “Wardo, _Wardo_!” And it… it sounds like _Mark_. 

Eduardo jolts up in his seat, rubbing his eyes blearily. He tries to slow his breathing as he rubs a hand haphazardly through his hair, mussed up from the small amount of sleep he got. “Coming!” he calls as he pushes himself off the couch and jogs for the door. 

He flings it open and there he is. Mark’s face is stained with a red, angry blush and he seems out of breath, which Eduardo assumes is probably from the yelling. He opens his mouth and promptly snaps it shut, glaring past Eduardo and pushing his way inside. 

“Mark,” Eduardo says, not sure if he’s starting an apology or an explanation as he closes the door and turns around to face Mark, who’s standing about five feet directly in front of him. The words die in his mouth when he sees Mark’s expression. It’s not upset or frantic like before, he just looks blown apart. Like this is all too much and he can’t believe it’s happening. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Mark says breathlessly, eyes searching and lips tilted up into a helpless, lopsided smile. 

Eduardo’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to respond (though, not to argue, because he agrees and he basically said as much on the voicemails), but he doesn’t get the chance before Mark is crossing the room in three quick strides and kissing him. 

They hurdle backward until Eduardo can feel himself hit the door, and he bumps his head against it a little but can’t even be bothered to care because Mark is kissing him. Mark is _kissing him_. And it’s not just that, Mark is kissing him desperately, possessively—like he _wants_ this and he’s thought about it before and he’s kissing Eduardo like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. 

And Eduardo feels exactly the same. He lets out a soft keening noise at the back of his throat, settling his hands on Mark’s hips and using that leverage to pull him closer. Mark rakes his fingers through Eduardo’s hair and deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into Eduardo’s mouth in a way that makes Eduardo catch his breath and dig his nails in a little deeper. 

It feels so good, _so good_ to be doing this with Mark, after so many broken nights of fumbling around with other people for the next best thing, the closest approximation of _this_ —but Eduardo knows now that nothing else even came close. It doesn’t even _compare;_ nothing else ever could, because this is on a whole other level, to get something that you’ve wanted and hoped and wished for after so long that you’d almost given up. Eduardo would almost believe that this was a dream, if not for his senses, so completely overwhelmed by the smell and feel and taste of _Mark_ , which is better and more real than any dream. 

Mark pulls back eventually because unfortunately, oxygen is needed for continued survival, but Eduardo lets out a whimper and tips his head forward, seeking Mark’s lips again, dazed and unable to let go. “Wardo,” Mark murmurs brokenly against his lips, just a puff of breath. 

“I know,” he whispers back inanely, just as overcome, before anchoring a hand on Mark’s neck and swallowing up whatever he was going to say in another kiss and sucking Mark’s lower lip into his mouth. He tastes like overly sweet like… like Red Vines, Eduardo realizes, smiling into the kiss at the thought. Mark’s hands move to bracket Eduardo’s ribs, kissing back for a moment before moving downward to kiss Eduardo’s neck, mouthing at his jawline along the way. “ _Fuck_ ,” Eduardo exhales, drawn out and fervent as he drags a hand through Mark’s unruly curls. He knows Mark hears it because Mark stops trying to give him a hickey and smiles against the skin there like he’s won. 

“I would, but I don’t want to impugn your virtue or anything,” Mark quips, drawing back so Eduardo can see his face, lips red and puffier than usual from kissing but still pulled up into their signature smirk. 

Eduardo laughs, letting his head fall back and rest against the door. Because yeah, the joke helped. Everything seems a lot less big and overwhelming now, because it’s still _them_. It’s still Mark and Eduardo, and sure, now they’re Mark _and_ Eduardo, but they’re themselves too. 

“ _Mark_ ,” he breathes, trying for conversation again, hearing the way the word comes out awed and disbelieving but at least it _comes out._

The smirk slips off Mark’s face, which is unfortunate, but it’s also important because they _do_ need to talk about this if they want to give it any sort of a fighting chance. 

“Those voicemails,” he says lowly, shaking his head a little and not meeting Eduardo’s eyes, “Wardo, I… you should know that I, um—I really…” He meets Eduardo’s eyes, intensely blue and full of bravery, clearing his throat and starting again. “When I said I care about you, what I _meant_ was—Wardo, I’m in love with you.”

Eduardo exhales and drops his forehead onto Mark’s shoulder. Because it’s not like he hasn’t imagined it, and now it’s happening and he just needs a moment. 

“I’ve, I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I also _love_ you, and I want you to be okay,” he continues, giving his hands on Mark’s hips a quick squeeze. “Because I know what it’s like not to be okay, and it sucks.”

The last part comes out wobbly, and Mark’s voice is a little higher than usual. Eduardo’s known Mark for long enough that he can interpret what that means, knows that’s how Mark sounds when he’s nervous about something. Eduardo lifts his head and looks at Mark, a little confused but mostly just surprised. 

“Elaine was my therapist,” Mark gets out in a rush, and Eduardo feels himself start a little at the words. “I don’t know what exactly you went through, Wardo, but I was in a really bad place after the depositions too, and… and I wanted to see someone. So Chris looked around for someone I could talk to, and eventually he found Elaine and—yeah,” Mark finishes, voice low and strained, like it’s hard to talk about. 

“ _Mark_ ,” Eduardo whispers, voice cracking. “I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”

A dark flush is high on Mark’s cheeks, and Eduardo caresses it lightly with his thumb. He just wants to make it go away. “Thank you for telling me,” he murmurs, tilting up Mark’s chin. “And… thank you for being so amazing with me, always, through just—everything. It must have been hard for you.”

Mark lets out another shaky sigh and squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment. “And,” Eduardo adds, thrilling inside that _he gets to say it now_ , “Mark, I love you too. I love you so much, _Mark_ —” he says, but is cut off when Mark kisses his again, letting out a happy sigh against Eduardo’s lips as he pulls back. 

“I’m glad,” Mark admits, and Eduardo allows himself a smile before pressing back in and connecting their lips again. 

//

Not much changes at first. 

They go to dinner and the movies and hang out with Chris or Dustin—and okay, so maybe Dustin was right, their old activities _were_ incredibly date-like, whatever—but still. It’s good now, to go out and get to hold Mark’s hand, or kiss him comfortable, easy whenever they want, regardless of whether or not they’re in public. 

And everyone is so happy for them. Chris and Dustin of course, for obvious reasons, but other people too—Mark’s parents and a couple of Eduardo’s friends from work, and Elaine too. Elaine’s very happy for both of them, actually. She gives Eduardo a hug when he tells her, and congratulates him. (“It only makes sense,” she teases, “that the two patients I’ve had that are the _worst_ with communicating would end up together.” Eduardo thinks that kind of makes sense too.)

Speaking of Elaine, Eduardo’s still seeing her. He’s doing well, possibly even better than before. 

It’s because of Mark, but at the same time, it isn’t. It’s not like Mark _fixed_ him or anything ridiculous like that, of course not—Eduardo was getting better before he and Mark figured it out, and that hasn’t changed. He knows he’s responsible for his own happiness now, and he’s taking advantage of that. 

But at the same time, it’s _Mark_ , who’s gone through the same things Eduardo has and has encountered the same bumps in the road… And it’s good to have someone to talk to who’s been there, through all of it. Who’s been through smashed laptops and icy depositions and hating yourself and life-changing moments, just the same as Eduardo, and is _going_ to be there for so much more. To know that someone else has felt the same things, thought the same things, _lived_ the same things. Because Eduardo is not alone. He’s starting to realize he never was. 

//

And then things do change. 

There’s a moment where they go from being them to being _them_ , and it’s much more subdued than any declaration of love or any first date, any kiss or any public moment. 

They’ve been dating for about a month, and it’s just the two of them, lying curled up together fully clothed in Eduardo’s bed, falling asleep in the purest sense of the phrase. Eduardo is in that hazy limbo between being asleep and being awake, fighting to keep his eyes open and losing the battle—when he feels Mark move his head from the space where it is nuzzled between Eduardo’s head and his shoulder. Mark presses his nose to Eduardo’s shoulder blade, which feels cold even through his dress shirt, and then kisses the same spot softly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the dark. That’s all—no explanation or elaboration, just two simple words that say so much more. Eduardo knows just what Mark means. 

And it’s...

During the depositions, Eduardo used to fantasize about the apology. He had unrealistic expectations of it; he thought it would fix everything sometimes, and sometimes he was so angry he thought it would just fuel his fire—he would think about looking at Mark and saying nothing in response, just out of spite. 

In reality, it’s none of those things, and Eduardo is _glad_. He’s glad that bitter, confused person never got the apology, because they wouldn’t have known how to handle it. Eduardo gets it now, and he knows just what to do with it. 

He hums a little in response, reaching down to fumble for Mark’s hand and tangle their fingers together. “I know,” he replies just as softly, not even bothering to turn around. “I’m sorry too.”

He hears Mark let out a breath and Eduardo gives their hands a squeeze, letting his eyes slide close easy now. 

It changes things because it _doesn’t_ change things. Eduardo doesn’t _need_ to forgive Mark now, because he already has. He doesn’t quite know when—somewhere between a screaming match in a hotel suite and tightly held hands in the corner of his living room—but it happened a long time ago, and now their words are just sealing it over, making it concrete and explicit and simple. It changes things because this is the moment when Eduardo realizes he never wants to give _this_ up, just as it is. Not for anything. 

//

So they are getting better at communicating, Eduardo thinks, if something he agonized about and lost sleep over a year ago is now as simple as two murmured words in the middle of the night. 

Another example is about a month or so after that. They’re on a date in a fancy Italian restaurant that’s one of Eduardo’s favorites. They alternate choosing where to go, most of the time, which means that Eduardo’s choices usually involve getting at least a little dressed up and a wine list while Mark’s include flip flops and a movie and possibly In-N-Out Burger. But Eduardo loves both ends of the spectrum, so he’s not complaining. 

As soon as they sit down, Eduardo nudges Mark’s foot under the table. Mark looks up at him in surprise, and Eduardo blushes and smiles and generally feels like a giddy teenager. But this expression sort of works, because Mark melts underneath it a little and blushes too, nudging Eduardo’s foot right back. 

They’ve ordered the wine and are still perusing their menus when Eduardo toes off a shoe to sneak his socked foot under Mark’s pant leg and rub over his ankle. Mark starts a bit, and Eduardo shrugs when he looks at him. Sure, they’re essentially playing footsie under the table, but who cares?

But Mark clears his throat, blush darkening and sitting up a little straighter, his face very determined and his grip on the menu white-knuckled at this point. Eduardo’s brow furrows, wondering how he’s managed to ruin the moment. “Mark—”

Of course the waiter chooses that moment to show up, bringing them their drinks. Mark thanks him bluntly and exhales all at once, harsh, as the waiter leaves. He sets his menu down decisively as Eduardo takes a sip of his wine, and finally looks up at Eduardo with a carefully blank expression. “Are you ever going to have sex with me?”

Eduardo spits out his wine. 

Which of course only makes things worse, since the waiter hurries over to ask if everything’s alright, and Eduardo has to assure him that they’re fine and wave him away even though he’s coughing and practically puce at this point. Mark’s certainly not doing it, just shooting the waiter vaguely annoyed looks for no other apparent reason than _existing_ , and so it’s another minute or two until they’re able to get back to their conversation. 

“ _Mark_ ,” Eduardo finally hisses when it’s just the two of them again. “Do we really have to have this conversation _right now_ —”

“Yes,” Mark replies, looking at Eduardo like he’s stupid and not lowering his voice _at all_. “Just, we’ve been dating for two months now, and that’s a perfectly acceptable amount of time, okay, and I don’t want to rush you or anything, but it’s kind of been a _long time_ —”

“How long?” Eduardo asks, momentarily distracted by his curiosity at Mark’s words. 

Mark blush goes even darker, and Eduardo takes another gulp of his wine. He figures he’s going to need it to make it through this conversation. “A year and a half,” he mutters. 

Eduardo chokes on his wine again and sputters, though at least this time he manages to be more discreet about it since no one rushes to help him. Still, they’re never going to be able to go to this restaurant again without Eduardo’s face discovering new shades of red. Once he’s composed himself, he leans in over the table and squeaks, “Why?”

“Because,” Mark says, voice coming out slightly whiney and mostly frustrated. “I was so… messed up during the depositions, and so I just stopped, and then I started seeing Elaine and she thought I should continue, that um—celibacy might be good for me.” 

He looks at Eduardo with brutally honest eyes. Eduardo knows it’s probably hard for Mark to say—he’s not a talker, when something’s wrong, he’s a thinker—so Eduardo tries to look back with as much understanding as possible. 

But Mark is impatient and starts rambling again. “But, but now there’s _us_ , and Wardo, I—I really want this.”

Eduardo swallows and tries to get his head to stop spinning. “Mark,” he starts, reaching over and fiddling with the fingers on the hand Mark has resting on the table. He takes another deep breath. This really isn’t the ideal place to talk about it, but if Mark wants to talk… Eduardo’s never been really good at stopping him. 

“Mark, when I was in… a really bad place, um. Sex—it caused a lot of problems for me. So since I started therapy with Elaine I haven’t slept with anyone either. And, and with _us_ —” he chances a look at Mark’s face, listening intently. “I wanted to wait until we were both sure. I don’t want, I _really_ don’t want it to screw this up. Because it means a lot to me.” 

He looks at Mark again and sees the ghost of a smile starting to tug at the edges of Mark’s lips. “But I really want this too,” he finishes all in a rush, and then Mark’s smile breaks free. 

“Uh, okay?” he asks, stuttering and a little nervous, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. 

“Okay,” Mark agrees, his smile transforming into a smirk as he squeezes Eduardo’s hand for a moment before he pulls it back to open his menu again. “Let’s hope the service here is fast,” he mutters snarkily under his breath.

And Eduardo can’t help it. He laughs. 

//

They trip over themselves trying to get in the door to Eduardo’s apartment, laughing into each other’s mouths, absolutely giddy. 

“Just,” Eduardo tries through his giggles, “just, the way you shoveled all the food down like you were trying to win a race, _Mark_ —” he cuts himself off when he has to gasp for breath, and Mark is doubled over, clutching his own stomach. 

Dinner had definitely been an interesting affair, to say the least. Even after the spat out drinks and the open discussion of their sex lives where everyone could hear them, Mark had eaten like his life depended on it and then called for the check so fast Eduardo practically got whiplash just watching him. 

“Eager, are we?” Eduardo had asked in the car. 

“A year and a half, Wardo,” Mark had replied without even taking his eyes off the road. 

But now they’re stumbling into the bedroom and Eduardo can’t help but feel a little eager too. It’s been five months for him, but that’s not it—it’s that this is _Mark_. They haven’t even started yet but he’s already breathless. This is something he’s wanted with Mark for such a long time, and now it’s happening, and he can’t even reconcile all his feelings—he’s excited and scared and giddy and nervous, all at once, but once they tumble onto the bed, Mark chases every other thought out of his head. 

Mark immediately starts pulling at Eduardo’s jacket, working it off his shoulders and throwing it off the bed with abandon, fingers fumbling with the buttons on Eduardo’s shirt. He gets distracted soon, moving to bite at Eduardo’s jaw line and suck a hickey into his neck and kiss the skin behind his ear. 

“ _Mark_ ,” Eduardo gasps out, unable to help it. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing, the simplest touch from Mark has always been able to drive him crazy. 

“Wardo,” he replies, sounding just as desperate, finally working open the last button on Eduardo’s shirt and pushing it off, running his hands down the plane of Eduardo’s chest. Eduardo lets out a whimper at the contact. “ _Wardo_ ,” Mark says again, voice cracking in the middle. He rolls so he’s straddling Eduardo, legs bracketing Eduardo’s hips, drawing his face up to kiss. 

Eduardo struggles ineffectually with the buttons on Mark’s shirt without much success. He grits out a groan of frustration into Mark’s mouth and Mark huffs out a laugh, drawing back to undo the buttons himself and shrugging it off before leaning back down to kiss Eduardo. 

He moves slowly, working his way down Eduardo’s chest, kissing every exposed bit of skin that he can, while Eduardo tries to breathe normally. He can’t help but quiver with laughter when Mark kisses right above his bellybutton, and Mark looks up at him momentarily to raise an eyebrow at him. 

And maybe he’s being too sappy, he thinks, as he reaches down at presses his thumb to the edge of Mark’s smile. He’s pretty sure he isn’t though, judging by the way Mark’s smile just grows wider. Anyway, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t stop even if he was. 

Just, he doesn’t remember the last time he was this happy during sex. He feels so _light_ —he doesn’t remember the last time this happened. He’s used to sex being something that makes him want to tear himself apart, hate himself and hurt himself, but _now_ … Now Mark’s kisses are sealing him together, making him feel _whole_ and loved and… And it’s never been better. 

Eduardo tunes back into what’s happening when Mark starts struggling with his belt. He finally gets it open, dragging down Eduardo’s pants and underwear in one fell swoop. They don’t bother to even get them all the way off, leaving them around his ankles as Mark presses a trail of kisses along the inside of Eduardo’s thigh. Eduardo can’t even help it, he’s letting out these high and needy noises, moans and whimpers he can’t even control. 

And then Mark runs a thumb over a nipple, and so Eduardo gasps and goes quiet. He hears it, then, as Mark twists the same nipple between two fingers, biting at Eduardo’s hipbone. “Mine,” he whispers into the skin there, moving to kiss Eduardo’s knee and then the knob of his ankle. “Mine,” he repeats again, until he’s saying it so often it’s an endless litany, running together. “ _Mineminemine_ , Wardo— _mine_.”

“Yours,” Eduardo groans out in response. “God, Mark, _always_ —I’m, I’m yours.”

Mark rumbles and lets out this animal, possessive sound that goes straight to Wardo’s dick, and then Mark’s mouth is closing around him and _oh god_. 

“Mark,” he moans, the suction sweet and warm and tight and _god_ , he has absolutely no idea how he’s supposed to survive this. He props himself up on his elbows so he can see, because he wants to see more of Mark than just his mess of curls. And he does, there’s Mark’s head bobbing, his cheeks hollowed, and Eduardo lets out a groan and has to steel himself not to come right there. 

Mark flicks his tongue and then keeps moving, kissing past his balls and then _there_ , licking into him. 

“ _Maaaark_ ,” he manages, drawing out his name, unable to keep quiet and reaching up to cover his own mouth, trying to muffle his sounds. 

He flicks his tongue again, pointing it and driving it into Eduardo. His knees draw up; he’s impossibly hard, his cock flushed and leaking. He jerks himself once then twice before it’s too much stimulation, letting his hand fall away. “Fuck me, Mark,” he begs, completely shameless. “Come _on_ , Mark, you have to… you have to… _Mark,_ I need you to fuck me.”

Mark groans, pulling away and then coming back before Eduardo can even open his eyes, licking into him and sliding a finger along in too. 

It’s all too much; Eduardo’s every nerve ending is on fire, and he’s making these shudder-y, sobbing noises that sound like they’re coming from far away. But Mark keeps going until Eduardo’s about to come, and then he’s stripping off his pants, his underwear. “Um…” he starts, but Eduardo knows what he’s asking for, rummages in the bedside table drawer for lube and a condom before Mark can even fully ask, thrusting them into his hands and then Mark is slicking himself up. 

“Turn over,” Mark murmurs, and Eduardo complies. Mark kisses the nape of Eduardo’s neck and then down each notch on his spine before sliding into Eduardo with a groan. 

Mark goes slow at first— _so_ slow Eduardo is blabbering all kinds of ridiculous things, begging him, “Faster, _faster_ ,” and “c’mon Mark, yes, right there,” and “so good, _fuck_ , Mark” and then just, “Love you, I love you, Mark—love you, love you.”

And Mark is panting and pushing his face into the nape of Mark’s neck, making equally wanton sounds and Eduardo has no idea how he’s holding on this long since it’s been a _year and a half_. “Mark, come on,” he says, so hoarse and breathless, because Mark just keeps hitting that spot right there and Eduardo’s practically falling apart underneath him. 

“Love you, _Wardo_ , love you so much,” Mark grits out, his grip on Eduardo’s hips tightening, the pulsing of his hips stuttering for a moment. Every part of him tightens and he gasps, like his orgasm is a gut punch running through him. 

Eduardo ruts his hips against the bedsheet, trying to get some friction even though he can’t really get his muscles to coordinate or his brain to think straight. Mark pulls out and then pushes Eduardo over onto his side, jerking him off fast and sure. 

“Mark,” he moans, pushing his sweaty face into Mark’s neck as Mark fists him again and again. 

What does it is _Mark_ , leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of Eduardo’s head, lacing the fingers of his other hand through Eduardo’s, saying, “Wardo, so gorgeous, _god_ ,” and that’s it. He’s coming hard, and he’s tense everywhere and his breathing is ragged and labored. 

Mark pulls off the condom and ties it, throwing it away and then heading for the bathroom. Eduardo can hear him gargling and closes his eyes, exhaling and savoring the loose, warm feeling he hasn’t associated with sex in a long, long time. 

Then Mark is bounding back in and curling up beside him. Eduardo smiles helplessly when he sees Mark, taking in his hair, rumpled from Eduardo’s hands, and his lips, swollen and overly red from kissing. Mark smiles back, eyes still a little awed. “Wardo, what?”

Eduardo shrugs, looking down, suddenly inexplicably embarrassed at himself. “Nothing, just…” he trails off, feeling himself blush. He knows what he wants to say. 

He wants to let Mark know, somehow, that what happened just now was so… It was so amazing. It was the best sex he ever had. And that sounds cheap, but that’s not how he means it—he means it like, being with Mark, even in the simplest sense, feels so much better than being with anyone else. And so it only makes sense that the sex would be better too, he guesses, but still. After such a long time of sex making him feel wrong or dirty or shameful, Eduardo’s not used to this, not used to having felt this good, this whole, this intimate with someone for a long, long time. 

“Um, are you planning on finishing that sentence?” Mark asks, bringing Eduardo back to the present. 

He laughs a little nervously, still refusing to look up. “Just… Mark, that was—”

Mark tilts his chin up with two fingers, looking hesitant and unsure but so, so beautiful. “What?” he asks. 

His eyes sting a little. He’s not sad at all, it’s just like… an excess of feeling, you know? And the words come spilling out before he can stop them. “I’m so happy. Mark you—you make me so _happy_.”

Mark’s eyes widen a little, like he wasn’t expecting that response, but then he grins. “You too, Wardo,” he says, embracing him so that they’re arms are wrapped around each other and Mark’s is resting his forehead on Eduardo’s bare shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Eduardo whispers it back, and that? That makes him happy too. 

//

Taking things slowly works out for them. It’s nice, since Eduardo feels like so much of his life has spun by, to have something that takes it’s time and doesn’t hurry. They spend a lot of time together, building their relationship around their lives and finding they intertwine pretty seamlessly. Sometimes Eduardo will come hang out at the Facebook offices when he’s not busy at work, or Mark will meet Eduardo for lunch, or they’ll hang out with Chris and Dustin. And Eduardo will stay over at Mark’s or the other way around, and it’s all pretty great.

It isn’t like there aren’t hard times, because there are. Sometimes they fight or argue or yell or disagree, but at the end of the day Eduardo can’t imagine being happier with anyone else. Because they always make up, they never go to bed angry, and they always make a point to communicate. 

And Eduardo is slowly healing too. Talking to Elaine helps, and talking to Mark helps, and just getting out of bed in the morning helps a little bit more every day. 

It isn’t until they’ve been dating for almost a year when Eduardo really remembers about the tabloid pictures, the ones that had made him feel so crazy and jealous and horrible. 

Eduardo's just come back from a business trip when Mark finds them. He's gotten Mark to take a look at his computer, because it had been acting really weird in the week he was gone... slow and glitchy and it just kept crashing. So he wants Mark to take a look at it to figure out if it has a virus or something, or if it's just getting old.

And god, he missed Mark _so_ much during that business trip. It's insane. He was only gone a week, and they still Skyped and texted and talked on the phone, but Eduardo still felt incomplete without getting to _touch_ Mark, and sleep next to him at night, and all that other stuff that makes this work.

Judging by the way Mark greeted him when Eduardo came through Mark's door—an enthusiastic kiss, followed by Mark pulling back and smiling at Eduardo so bright it was like looking into the sun, cheek dimpling and everything—Eduardo’s guessing Mark felt the same. His guesses were evidently correct when Mark murmured, "Wardo, I'm so glad you're home," all excitement and joy. And Eduardo, well... he _had_ to kiss Mark in that moment. There was no way he could stop himself.

He thinks they had both hoped that sweet beginning would led to some catching up of a physical nature, jogging up the stairs and making their way to Mark's bedroom. But before long, Eduardo was telling Mark everything about his trip and some of the more annoying clients and Mark is laughing so hard his cheeks are turning pink, his head pillowed on Eduardo's stomach. 

And they're both pretty tired. Eduardo never sleeps well in hotels anymore, and apparently Mark doesn't sleep well without _Eduardo_ anymore either, judging by the rumpled pillow and blanket that he spotted on the couch downstairs (and he's definitely going to get on his case about that later, sleeping on the couch is not good for his neck). So they fall asleep without even meaning to, even with Eduardo still in his dress pants and shirt.

They'd woken up eventually of course—well, the grumbling of Mark's stomach woke them both up. Eduardo had teased him about only surviving on tuna and Red Vines while he was gone; "God Mark, it's like you're still nineteen," to which Mark had responded, "Shut up Wardo, I had macaroni and cheese too." Eduardo had questioned whether or not macaroni that orange and came from a _box_ was really advisable to eat, and Mark has punched him lightly on the arm and demanded that Eduardo go make them some real food, then, while Eduardo dragged Mark downstairs with him, laughing all the while.

He made them pasta, partially because he was hungry for it and partially to make Mark send him one of those indulgent, affectionate glares while he said, "Yes, I get your point, Wardo, you win." To which Eduardo turned back over the stove with a grin, and felt Mark's arms go around him from behind and press a soft kiss to the side of his neck. 

Hm, maybe he really does win.

"Mark, I'm so fucking hungry I could eat my own arm. There is no way I'm having sex with you on the kitchen floor right now, last time that happened I burned the burgers to a crisp," he ordered, trying to sound authoritative even when his voice tremors, while Mark continued to press his lips to the nape of Eduardo's neck.

Mark pouted a little. "Not even time for a blowjob against the fridge?" he whined playfully. Eduardo squawked at him, going red, shooing him away while Mark just chuckles.

And it's funny, he thought to himself while Mark gets the plates, how domestic they are. It's so simple, and it's never really something he thought he deserved, but it just makes him so uncomplicatedly content. He can't even say how much he missed this while he was gone.

He knows he’ll have to run to his apartment tomorrow morning, though. They had spent the night there the day before Eduardo had left, so some of the stuff he needs for Monday is there, and he's going to have to go pick it up. He groans inwardly just at the thought—spending all day with Mark tomorrow would be preferable. And now his apartment feels so empty without Mark in it too, no matter how weird that is. The worst part of it all is, no matter what, it's always a hassle. There's always something he needs at the wrong place, and it's just plain annoying.

Eduardo shook that train of thought out of his head as the timer went off, tossing the noodles and sauce together while Mark waited impatiently at the table, foot drumming against the floor. He brought it over and sat down, returning Mark's grin and resolving to soak up every moment with Mark until he has to leave.

But now, Mark is helping him with his computer. Anyway, he’s going through Eduardo’s files in his living room while Eduardo cleans up dinner in the kitchen, and he hears Mark call his name. 

“What?” he asks, striding in and leaning over the back of the couch so he can see what Mark’s doing. 

“What… What are these?” Mark asks. Eduardo can’t really interpret his tone, which is weird, because they’ve both gotten pretty good at that. 

Eduardo peers down at the laptop screen and sees those pictures, blushing immediately. “Oh,” he says, his voice a little higher than usual. “Those were, um.” He can’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence. 

Mark is grinning at him a little bit like a Cheshire cat as he closes the laptop. “Why did you have those?”

He exhales harshly and comes around on the couch to sit next to Mark. “Because, I saw them in a magazine once and I got really jealous.”

Mark’s brow furrows like his words don’t make any sense, which, why wouldn’t they? “Huh?” Mark asks.

“Just, that _guy_ you were with,” Eduardo tries again, scrubbing his hand anxiously over his face. “He— _fuck_ , you looked so happy with him, and… I _wanted_ that, Mark,” he explains. 

Mark grins again and laughs, throwing his head back, which only makes Eduardo blush more. “ _Wardo_ ,” he says, and his tone is so fond and affectionate that Eduardo immediately feels silly for his fleeting moment of insecurity. “First of all, that guy was just some douche-y investor Chris said I had to make nice with, okay, he practically had me crawling in my skin.” 

Eduardo smiles, rolling his eyes at himself and squeezing Mark’s hand. 

“And secondly, okay, you _do_ make me happy, you idiot.” 

Eduardo’s breath catches in his throat. Not just because of the words, because he does know that on some level, but… The pure honesty in Mark’s tone and the contentment there, _that’s_ what makes Eduardo feel absolutely flushed with happiness. “Yeah?” he asks breathlessly.

Mark rolls his eyes this time. “Okay, you’re fishing for compliments now, Wardo,” he says, voice breathless and helplessly fond. Eduardo laughs, leaning in close and kissing Mark slow and sweet, letting his hands roam and hoping that maybe this will lead somewhere. 

“Um,” Mark says, cutting them off much too soon for Eduardo’s taste. “You know, Wardo, you know how happy you make me and how much I love you and, and—and how much this means to me and. Uh... I was kind of a mess without you this week."

Eduardo laughs, but not unkindly. "I figured you might have been; I saw the pillow and blanket," he explains, nodding to them on the other end of the couch. Mark blushes and Eduardo smiles back small, shrugging a little, trying to communicate without words how much he understands.

But sometimes they need words too, because being as clear as possible with each other is something they make an effort to do now. "If it helps, I was the same way," Eduardo admits, exhaling a bit when Mark looks up. "The hotel bed was..." he trails off, shuddering a little at the thought. He doesn't know what he can say without it coming out too sappy: it was too big, too empty, too cold. So he just shrugs again, and this time Mark nods in agreement.

"Wardo, I don't like not being with you. I mean, like _that_ obviously, because business trips suck and work is stupid—" Eduardo can't help but laugh there, because they both love their work so much so it comes out a little ridiculous, but he knows what Mark means, "But also like... I don't like it when you stay at your place and I stay at mine. I. I miss you, kind of a lot, when that happens. And, uh—I don't like switching back and forth even when we stay together either, because it seems like this big unnecessary hassle, and, just—"

"Mark," Eduardo says quietly. Mark stops rambling and Eduardo smiles at him, trying to urge him into actually _asking_ the question. "What are you saying?"

Mark takes in an unsteady breath, meeting Eduardo's gaze with all he has. "Wardo. I know we said we'd take this slow, and you can say no if you think this is too fast, but... Will you move in with me?" Eduardo feels himself go a little pink, and an incandescently happy smile fights its way onto his face as he leans in close, resting their foreheads against one another and brushing their noses together. " _Of course_ I will," he answers, the words coming out soft and full of feeling.

Mark smiles back, Eduardo's favorite kind... The one that is just for him, that lights up every inch of his face with his eyes focused in on Eduardo completely, like nothing else matters. "Thank you," he whispers, closing his eyes and savoring the moment too.

"Mhm," Eduardo replies, not coherent in the least but completely blissful. "I love you," he says again in the space between them, low and soft and intimate and just for Mark, always.

Mark sighs, murmuring "Love you too," against Eduardo's lips as he goes in for a kiss.

//

It takes a couple weeks, but Eduardo manages to sell his apartment in San Francisco without too much trouble. 

Some things are kind of hard, but the closer it gets to leaving, the more he realizes that there's not a lot he's going to miss about this city. He's going to have to commute to the office now, but it's not like it isn't worth it, so he's not complaining. 

It's beautiful, of course, but there's too many bad associations. When he's in San Francisco, he feels too close to that person again—the self-destructive, scared, bitter guy, so deep in denial about everything his head was practically buried in the sand. And in Palo Alto, he feels... He feels bursting with possibility, fresh and honest and open.

Eduardo cleans out his apartment, something that proves to be a deeply cathartic and emotional experience. Mark offers to help when he mentions it, but Eduardo knows he needs to face this on his own.

It's a long day. Eduardo throws out most things, giving some of his furniture away to neighbors or donating it, and only keeping the things that he really wants: the rocking chair he'd kept in his office that his grandmother had bought for him when he was starting college, his pots and pans, which are infinitely better quality than Mark's, pictures… stuff like that.

He also finds some things, too. When he's cleaning out his desk, he finds that list he'd written with his expectations for everyone. He looks over it briefly, just because it's interesting to see how things have changed; how _he's_ changed. The best part is brushing the pad of his thumb over the question mark next to Mark's name, pleased when some of the lead rubs off on him. It's like a gentle memory of the past, and at the same time a reminder of how lucky he is to have what he has now. And to be able to see how far they've come.

Eduardo ends up throwing the list away. It's nice, but it's also outdated and intensely personal, and besides—he doesn't need it anymore.

But that's not even the biggest discovery.

He's cleaning out the kitchen, taking the magnets off the fridge when he comes across the card hung there from what feels like forever ago.

And the thing is, it's come to mean so much to him. The card represents Chris, trying to help him even when Eduardo pushed him away as hard as he could. It represents Elaine, his partner in crime on this journey of getting to know himself. Last but not least, it represents Mark. Mark, who never took no for an answer and who still cared after _everything_ , all the heartbreak, and who answered calls late at night and stayed up with him when he was terrified and held his hand through it and made sure he was okay, and _Mark_ , who called him an idiot and then kissed him silly and who _loves_ him.

So he holds it in his hands for a moment, considering the tattered edges and the paper, once stiff and shiny but has now become soft and worn-in, from being shoved under piles of junk mail and crammed into his wallet and turned over in his hands again and again in fits of nervous energy. He pockets it quickly, surprised at his own mistiness over the moment, but still... pleased.

Eventually he finishes. Eduardo stands at the door and looks out into the empty, white space, exhaling. And then he turns and just, _goes_.

Leaving is much easier than he expected. Because yes, that was his home and important moments happened there, he grew and found himself there. But there are important moments to come and more growth to be had and the only difference now is he gets to face them side by side with _Mark_. And that's worth looking forward to.

//

 

“Hello?” Eduardo calls as he steps through the door, unlocking the door with his key, the words echoing through the house. 

He’s still thrilling inside about the fact that he even _has_ a key now. Mark had pressed it into his hand late last night, right before bed. 

“Here,” he had said gruffly, avoiding Eduardo’s eyes and instead focusing on the carpet with unwarranted intensity. “Since you’re cleaning out your apartment tomorrow, I just thought… I dunno. I thought you should have it.”

Eduardo’s not stupid; he knows that Mark’s trying to avoid the emotion behind the moment, because that’s what he does. But he can’t help it, Eduardo just… _has_ to, it’s who he is. 

And Mark was still rambling, because he’s still trying to play off the moment. “Because you know, you live here now, and you shouldn’t be locked out of your place, and—I honestly don’t know why you didn’t have one before now; you’ve stayed over enough—”

“ _Mark_ , hey” he whispered, turning the key over in his hand, closing his fingers around it slowly. Mark was still glaring at the floor steadfastly, so Eduardo used his other hand to tilt his chin up with two fingers. Mark saw Eduardo’s expression and promptly rolled his eyes, like he knew what was coming. 

So, just this once, Eduardo forgoes words between them, leaning in to curl the hand holding the key around Mark’s hip and anchoring the other at the edge of his jaw, hoping the kiss can communicate the things he wants it to. Mark responded easily, letting out a soft wanting sound at the back of his throat that always gives Eduardo goosebumps. He tugged at Mark’s lower lip with his teeth, deepening the kiss and curling their tongues together. 

He pulls back, and then it’s just the two of them inches from each other, eyes a little wild, breathing close, and skin bright and flushed. Mark gives him a smile, and that’s it… That’s all Eduardo wants. 

“Well,” Mark said, drawing the word out and drawing his lips into a slow, wicked grin. “I guess now everything here is _ours_?”

Eduardo’s brow had furrowed, not catching the meaning. “Yeah, I guess…”

“Hm,” Mark had hummed. “Then, how about we take this to _our_ bed?”

Eduardo had thrown his head back and laughed, shaking his head at Mark happily. “That was such an easy line, Mark, god.”

“Yeah, well,” Mark had shrugged, “It worked on you, so what does that say?”

He had pretended to act offended, playing along, but his wide smile had given him away as he took Mark’s hand and followed him. “Maybe just for you,” he’d replied, and Mark had gone genuinely pink and pleased at that, so… mission accomplished. 

The sound of Mark bounding through the house brings Eduardo back to reality and makes him grin a little bit, but not as much as the sight that immediately follows—Mark jogging down the stairs in his threadbare "Brazillia" t-shirt (which, why does he still even _have_ that thing, Eduardo got it for him during his sophomore year of college) and his worn sweatpants. He pauses on the final step and looks at Eduardo, grin sliding onto his face almost unconsciously, like a reflex. "Hi," he says simply.

Eduardo steps forward slowly, smile playful as he comes closer. Mark can take the anticipation for only so long before he gives Eduardo a long suffering look and tugs him in by his belt loops, drawing out a full laugh from Eduardo that makes Mark’s grin just noticeably wider.

Being on the step makes him an inch or so taller, which is unusual but kind of nice, Eduardo thinks as Mark pulls him into his arms. He's able to bury his head into Mark's neck now, inhaling him and smelling laundry soap and the now mostly faded smell of his aftershave. He presses a quick kiss there, the space just above his collarbone, before turning and pillowing his head on Mark's shoulder as Mark draws his arms around him and sighing happily.

"You're home," Mark says simply, and Eduardo can't help but grin, pulling his face back so he can take in Mark's awed, captivated expression. It’s like he still can't believe Eduardo is _there_ , that this is happening. And... Eduardo still thinks that every day, and he's not sure he's ever going to get over it, so he knows the feeling.

The word "home" continues to echo around in his head as he reaches out to lightly touch the edges of Mark's smile. Because yeah, this is home now. This house and Mark and Palo Alto are all home, and Eduardo couldn't be more thrilled.

It's been a slow burn, between the two of them. A lot has happened—a good share of both good and bad—but Eduardo finds it hard to regret any of it, even the scariest, darkest moments. Because now he's _here_ , and all of that led him here, and the future is so bright and hopeful that it almost makes up for all the hard stuff that came before.

And _here_ is where he was trying to get to, all that time, even when he refused to admit it to himself. Here, with Mark smiling at him like he's just everything, holding him close like he's something precious, with a blooming warmth in his chest telling him that he's loved. He's truly grateful it didn't happen any sooner—because now he can appreciate this and understand it. Maybe in his fantasies it was easier or faster, but the trials and hardships and misunderstandings are what give him hope. They've had to _fight_ for this, and so he knows that they can continue to do so.

They'll have to, too... This isn't a fairytale ending. Eduardo still has his issues and so does Mark, and they have some together too, just for good measure. And that's okay. Because Mark loves him, for all his flaws, and that means _everything_.

He can't help but think to himself that, no matter what Dustin claims in his typical dramatic, theatrical manner, this isn't a love story. Maybe it's more of a growth story. Maybe this is _Eduardo's_ growth story—his journey, about how he went from the worst place he's ever been to the best one imaginable. And how he had to learn and hurt and heal along the way, and how he had to do it all himself. Which, when it's said that way, sounds too dismissive, because he never would have made it here without Elaine or Chris or Dustin or Mark. But there is a point. He didn't get help because someone else told him to, just like he didn't get help just to get Mark in the end. He did it for _himself_ , and he thinks maybe this life with Mark he's about to start isn't so much the end goal or direct effect, but an unexpected reward, a lucky consequence.

"I am," he agrees, smiling back as he steps up onto the stair with Mark, taking one of his hands and leaning in close to kiss him, but not before repeating it again against his lips (because saying it thrills him and means so much more than Mark will ever know): "I'm home."

//

_"i am young, and i am yours_

_i am free, but i am flawed_

_i am here, and your heart_

_was here from the start..."_

//


End file.
